


Fruit of the Poisonous Tree

by completetheory



Category: Batman: The Animated Series, DC Animated Universe (Timmverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Legal Realism, Courtroom Drama, F/M, Far more legal than romance though, Legal Drama, Mild Swearing, Not total realism because Batman himself kinda gets in the way of that, Other, Queer Friendly, Trans Female Character, Trans Friendly, mild romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24357856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/completetheory/pseuds/completetheory
Summary: Former District Attorney Harvey Dent knows the law better than anyone. In the past, it has always behooved him to use his talents to address corruption. From the other side of the bars, it occurs to him that nothing has to change, just in time to help another inmate of Arkham Asylum escape a similar fate.
Relationships: Harvey Dent/Edward Nygma
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadScientific](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadScientific/gifts).



> This fic is a few years old, and despite its modest scope, I was convinced I'd never finish it. Here it is at last.

Inspiration struck like a bolt from the blue. One day, Harvey Dent stood trial in the Gotham City courthouse _pro se_ , which is to say, he represented himself. And those believers in the old saying, _anyone who represents himself in court has a fool for a client and an ass for an attorney,_ had never seen Harvey in court. 

He acquitted himself. Effortlessly. The jury took half an hour to deliberate. 

The media swarmed as he exited the courthouse, all smiles on one half, the other half a permanent grimace. His injuries were no longer the subject of media frenzy, as most people had their fill of judgment for his scars, but not everyone was willing to let go of his miraculous acquittal. 

Batman visited that night, telling Dent to take care of himself. And it was possibly the worst thing he could have done, to try to intimidate a man like Harvey. He had to wonder if the man under the cowl knew anything about Dent, and how when he was pushed, he ended up pushing back harder, nine times out of ten. That was how he'd gotten into this mess in the first place, with Thorne and the mafia. His inability to be told enough, to be told to stay away from things. His dislike of intimidation. 

In response, Dent dialed the police, Batman left, and Dent looked out his apartment window a long time over the sleeping city, and then returned to find his coin. 

"Just one time." He said, and flipped. He covered the result, but even through his hand he could feel the side, smooth, right. Good. 

The universe had spoken, for this next time, he would pay it forward. Once. He tried not to look too far into the future, to make sure he could keep up with all his promises. 

Janus, his cat, came trotting out of the bedroom to come see him, and he scooped her up and carried her to the sofa. As soon as he got there, she jumped down and wandered away. Dent was too wired to sleep, turning on the television, but there were no well timed crime reports for him to take an interest in.

He got his chance later in the month. Not long after he'd made his resolution to pay forward his fortune, the Riddler escaped from Arkham, which wasn't difficult to do. And, equally predictably, she was captured by Batman. 

That was when things got interesting. Harvey Dent's phone buzzed on the coffee table, and he recognized one of the Gotham PD Major Crimes Unit numbers. He accepted the call. 

"This is Dent." 

"Harvey." It was Eddie, sly and sonorous, "I read about your stunt back in December. Want to make it a twofer?" 

Unseen, Harvey smiled. "Don't talk to anyone until I get there." 

"Please. What do you take me for?" 

Harvey hung up, took his coat, and left his apartment. He didn't finish his dinner, and in five minutes was in the subway heading downtown to the Gotham City PD. 

On the way, he dialed the duty judge, and picked cat hairs off his coat. The duty judge informed him that bail for an escapee from Arkham was $50,000, plus re-offender status, plus Nygma's proven lack of contacts and attachment to Gotham (Despite her obsession with outsmarting Batman, who _never left_ Gotham), put her bail at $175,000. 

"Excuse me? One hundred-..." Dent croaked. He had not misheard. "...Just a moment." 

Dent thought about it. Ordinarily he would argue for Eddie's eighth amendment rights, that bail not be excessive, but he was pressed for time, he had the money, and he was not certain if Eddie was injured - or likely to be more injured - and getting her out of jail was priority. Besides, in a felony case like this one, they almost certainly wouldn't reduce the bail, no matter how eloquently he argued. 

He arranged a transfer from his bank, scowling on both sides of his face. Minutes later, he stepped off the subway and headed up into daylight again outside the police building. The GCPD was a hive of activity, but not because of Nygma's capture. They were discussing the recent escape of Killer Croc, who was threatening the lower east side with a bomb, or something equally unambitious. Dent ignored it, threading through the station like a moray eel in search of a slow fish. The cops, half on the take and half crooked, scattered before him like cockroaches before the light, none wanting to be the one his attention fixated on.

He stopped at Bullock. The one potentially decent cop here, including Jim "My best friend is a violent vigilante" Gordon. But in Gotham, 'decent' was highly relative. 

"I've posted bail." Dent said.

Bullock chewed a toothpick. "You work fast."

"Do you? What's Eddie's booking status?" 

The tension between them was thick, Bullock didn't like lawyers and Dent - for a cornucopia of reasons - didn't like cops. Bullock looked around at the pell-mell of activity, and Dent could guess where it was going. Eddie could be released anytime from that moment to midnight, so long as it was the same calendar day. He regretted not being even slightly cordial with Bullock, but the fat cop surprised him. 

"Don't tell me how to do my job, ambidexter." Bullock said, calm as hell, "We both know I could hold your client all day. And we both know I won't. So follow me and stop looking like you're gonna set the place on fire with heat vision, okay?" 

Eddie was downstairs in the holding cells, filling out a crossword with a pen, and she came along quietly as Dent arranged to have copies of the charges, and verified that whatever confiscated items Eddie had were either returned to her or in a secure place free from tampering and theft. Ideally.

"How much was the bail?" Bullock followed Dent and Eddie back, the latter seemed oddly comfortable with his presence, but the former was like a wolf on the hunt. 

"$175,000." Dent said, and saw Eddie twitch in surprise. 

Bullock frowned as well, no stranger to the exploitative practices. "I'd say you'd better handcuff her to you, but the pair ain't been made that Eddie can't get out of."

"Kind of you to say, but don't worry. I'll be at the court date." Eddie reassured, "I wouldn't miss it for the world." 

They left Bullock there, taking a taxi to one of Eddie's legal hideouts, and Dent read the information on the way, familiarizing himself with the charges. Eddie was quiet, but as soon as they'd gained the inside of the building, away from prying ears, she asked, "Why was the bail so high?"

Dent lifted the casefile, "Partly this; you committed multiple felonies. Partly the last time you 'went straight' when you had no intention, I think you pissed someone off down at their HQ." 

"I did have intention." Eddie argued, "I was going to change as soon as Batman was dead." 

Dent gave her a look, augmented by the acid burned eye, wide and uncompromising. She sighed, avoiding his gaze after a moment. It looked as though she was considering gratitude for posting the bail, but didn't quite make it there. 

"Can I take a few pictures of your face?" Dent asked. 

Eddie had almost forgotten the swelling, bruises and cut eyebrow, so accustomed was she to violence against her person, but she consented, and Dent used his phone to photograph, timestamp, and back up several photos to enter as evidence. Then he sat with the casefiles and made some notes. Eddie brought him coffee and sat with him, answering questions and going over the minutiae. 

"You confessed." Dent made more notes. "We go inadmissible, based on coercion. Was it Batman or a cop who hit you?" 

"Batman." 

Dent didn't seem pleased or disappointed. He simply wrote. 

It was like emotions - strong ones - were given no time to register, and all the energy he would otherwise have spent on anger was funneled into the case, point by point. He was relentless, picking over things Eddie thought weren't particularly important, but this was his realm of study, and she had reached out to him, so she humored him. After an hour of this, though, he rubbed his face - the non burned side. Then he retrieved some cream from his briefcase and absently applied it to the scar tissue. 

Then he was back to business, pointing out which confiscated articles were likely to have what was called a 'chain of custody'. "See, Batman drops off these things he's found, there's no paper trail. No evidence he didn't just take a gun from his car and put it into a bag marked 'Things I Found On Riddler'. You need chronological documentation of the discovery, seizure, analysis and impounding of _almost_ anything used as evidence. Even little discrepancies in objects obtained legally can have them thrown out." 

That made sense. The more Dent talked, the more Eddie was realizing Batman wasn't actually helping in a legal sense at all. And if the Joker's rising waves of violence were any indication, Batman wasn't really helping in a terrorize-enemies-into-compliance sense, either. 

"So..." Eddie teased a page out of the casefile, scanning it with boredom, "Who's going to be prosecuting?"

"Janet Van Dorn." The answer was immediate. "She already knows us, and we know her. She's the one Joker kidnapped and forced to defend Batman. As a defense attorney, she's lousy, but _most_ former prosecutors make lousy defense attorneys." 

That was cause for concern from Eddie, but Dent waved it off.

"You have to change the way you process everything to be a competent defense lawyer. As District Attorney, you're used to working with police, talking to victims, you have a disdain for defendants. You're conditioned to see them as guilty. Trying to cold switch into defense mode, you're going to be insincere. And juries can smell that." 

Eddie did not look reassured. 

Harvey put a hand on hers, adding, "I don't see you as guilty."

"But I did it." Eddie flustered. She was knocked off balance by the words and touch, and the possibility that she had made a critical error in overlooking the nuance of former prosecutors. 

"Not what matters here, or in court. You're innocent. They have to prove you're not, and their methods are lousy. Van Dorn's good at her job, but I think she hates Batman, too. It's going to be hard for her to argue against the illegality of this evidence. If she does. She knows as well as I do that you can't let some costumed freak beat up your witnesses, trespass and wiretap without a warrant..." 

Dent shook his head and continued, "When we're in that courtroom, whatever else I am, I'm your friend. And I'll fight for you because sending you to Arkham on the strength of a vigilante's actions when he _won't even show his face..._ is not justice." 

It was the most impassioned Dent had been around Eddie, and she was struck by it, pleasantly fascinated by someone whose interest was apparently in looking out for her. This was a rare breed. Of course she'd reached out to Dent for that purpose, but she hadn't expected it to be personal to him. Perhaps she should have given him more credit. 

"When I got back from the courtroom that day, he was there." Dent said, after a pause to reshuffle the papers. "In my home. Like he belonged. --Whatever else, we have to fight him. This system, everything I fought for, it's all designed so that one man _can't_ be the arbiter of guilt or innocence. And the police are designed so that it's less desirable for them to shortcut, so they're not tempted to illegal search and seizure. Working with a private citizen who can do all these things **and** assault suspects? Gordon's out of his mind." 

Eddie thought over that for a little while, and as the evening wore on, eventually retired to bed. She invited Dent to pull out the couch in the living room if he was tired, but otherwise wished him luck. In her bed, she watched the moonlight crawl across the ceiling, minutes to hours. Maybe it would have been more obvious to her if she'd been a defense lawyer or any kind of paralegal, but to have Dent lay it all out like that made a frightening amount of sense. She didn't know why no one else had figured it out, except that Gotham was deeply corrupt anyway, and one person more or less taking advantage would scarcely be noticed. Her mind was racing. 

Previously, she'd only hoped this would _work_ , and keep her out of Arkham for good. That hellish institution was doing no one any good, and it didn't even have the decency to keep people like the Joker locked up properly. But in the dead of night when her inhibitions were at their weakest, and her thoughts at their quickest, she wondered things that excited and concerned her. 

What if Harvey was right? What if this _was_ the right thing? 

And what would the Bat do when he realized his interference was starting to cost him convictions?


	2. Chapter 2

Harvey Dent woke blearily, to light streaming in an unfamiliar window, and Eddie Nygma standing in front of him triumphantly.

"What gets stronger the longer you hold it?" 

Dent tried to force his brain to come awake, noticing a pain in his neck that was unrelated to the Riddler and more to do with falling asleep on a couch in a strange position. "A baby?" 

Eddie was momentarily stymied. "Unconventional answer. I can see your thought train, though. But no. Hint?" 

Dent knuckled at his eye as he sat up. "I give in. What?"

"A _grudge._ " 

When Dent only nodded, Eddie elaborated with impatience, "The Bat's not doing this out of the kindness of his heart _or_ the rationality of his - admittedly impressive - mind. He's doing it because he's emotional. He's angry, he's vengeful. A vigilante who thinks he's doing the city a favor, but based on everything you've said, there's no way he can't know how illegal and open to challenge his methods are. The only reason it's worked so far is that so many of us as 'supervillains' are below the poverty line and rely on overworked public defenders who don't even have _time_ to review cases and encourage us to plea bargain." 

The lawyer couldn't argue, it was a reasonable assumption of the Bat's motivations. But the way it was phrased... He started organizing his papers, trying to decide how much encouragement to give to Eddie's quirks. 

"Okay." He decided on, "We need to talk about your habit of doing that... you can't do that in the courtroom."

Eddie's sunny smile and cheery demeanor retreated behind uncertain clouds. It was obvious she had no idea what he was talking about, or any way of amending it. 

"The riddles. However you share your thoughts, it's not going to look good for us if you're playing word games. The hardest thing for you is going to be keeping a lid on talking when you're sitting at the counsel table with me." 

Eddie retreated to the kitchenette to work on breakfast, troubled. "What about when I'm on the stand?"

"You're not taking the stand, Eddie." Harvey was definitive. 

The Riddler scratched her hand, just above one of her purple gloves. "You're not going to let me speak for myself?"

The lawyer closed his briefcase. "Putting you on the stand changes the game. Right now we're playing 'the prosecution has to prove they have a case against you with legally gathered evidence and no terrorized confession'. We put you on the stand, the game becomes 'does the jury believe you'. You get emotional? You're prone to violence, or unstable. Show no emotion? You're cold, and calculating. We're not doing it." 

"Do you want some toast and eggs?" Eddie said, deliberately changing the subject, but the strain in her voice was evident. 

Dent hesitated. "Please. And - I don't mean to be a bully. I just know how this goes." 

"I'm not unstable." Eddie snapped, surprising herself with her own vehemence, "I'm _not._ " 

Dent gave it a second, waiting for her to set down the frying pan again. "We've both been on the wrong side of Arkham's glass cells. I'm telling you these things for your own good... to help us win. I didn't testify at my trial, and you shouldn't either. Your rights protect you from having to, because it's too easy for an ironclad case to take a hit below the waterline and sink." 

She visibly gathered herself, breathing deep, and then brought him over the toast and one egg. 

"Thanks." He let the silence settle the tension, as best it could, "It's not that I don't trust you. Van Dorn's not a fool." 

Eddie considered her reflection in the shiny oven door. "You can't stop me testifying." 

Dent's heart sank. He shook his head. No, he couldn't, all he could do was strongly advise against it. The Riddler said nothing else, finishing up her own breakfast and musing. Dent came back over, washing his own plate, deciding he had time to stop off and feed his cat before chasing up a few leads. Eddie caught him at the door. 

"Will you drop me as a client if I take the stand?" 

Dent closed his undamaged eye. "You'd have to do a lot worse than enforce your rights for me to drop you." He tried to compose words, finding no way he could say it that didn't imply a mistrust of her poise under pressure. _Even the most calm and composed person might cede to emotions in the heat of the moment... and we both know, **really** know that you're insecure as hell under all that assurance._

Then he hit on a possible solution, leaning on the inside of the apartment door. 

"Eddie. What doesn't work right when it's fixed?"

Eddie blinked. "A jury." 

"Mm. Why don't sharks attack lawyers?" 

The Riddler's confusion deepened, but she supplied, "Professional courtesy." 

Dent smiled with the muscles that still obeyed him. "See. You think a certain way. And being alone, thinking strangely, it can make you eager to explain yourself. To help people understand you. I think that's what you want, deep down. Isn't it?" 

Eddie looked away.

Dent didn't press, turning to take the door handle. "Think it over. We have a little while before I have to submit the list of witnesses to call. And if you really want to, we'll run through some possible angles when Van Dorn cross-examines." 

"Right. I'll see you - do you want to meet somewhere for lunch?" Eddie rallied. 

Dent shook his head. "I don't eat out much anymore." He gestured to his face. "Makes people ...nervous." 

"Oh. Well. You can come back here. We'll order takeout. Unless, you'll be busy, I'm making a lot of work for you. I hope it's a worthy challenge." 

Harvey didn't feel bad about leaving Eddie, agreeing to return for a late lunch. He did look around the buildings, scanning the rooftops in Gotham's smog-choked skyline. He walked back home, letting himself in.

Something 'non-supervillains' didn't understand - even capes, because most of them preserved their identities and whatever family lives they wanted to have outside their vigilante occupations - was the constant hypervigilance that at any point their homes could be invaded. But a cursory check and Janus didn't seem unsettled, so he made a few calls. 

Mostly he was trying to secure and locate witnesses, but he knew that was a dangerous game, too. The people who were likely to speak on Nygma's behalf were as unpredictable as she was. 

Though, after a few hours reviewing old case files, Dent was beginning to get the feeling that Nygma wasn't all that unpredictable after all. The old familiar thought process that his doctors had called 'Harv' had been mostly quiet since he'd gotten out, without even smug boasts that he'd used his smarts to rig the system for a change. To the best of his knowledge, his assertions about the Bat's interference were true, and there was no reason legally or morally that he should go back to Arkham on the strength of a vigilante collar. 

But what struck him about the Riddler's old exploits made 'Harv' sit up and pay attention. 

"Fuck me, she's actually innocent." 

Dent was as unsure of where that thought was going as he might have been discovering a viper in his bed. "Whaddya mean." 

"I mean this opening salvo against Mockridge is nothing like some of the freaks warming beds at Arkham. This guy ruined her life, stole her idea, tried to ruin her with bogus contracts."

Dent tried not to spend much time 'talking to himself' at the recommendation of his therapists, but sometimes Harv came at things from an angle his regular thought process couldn't, so he found himself setting up a tape recorder and sitting back with the shoulder-devil persona. He could hear the clown now. _Two lawyers for the price of one._

"So that makes killing Mockridge okay? What are you saying." He could never be sure if Harv was operating on the same level when it came to murder - there was a lot of ugly violence in him. 

Harv laughed. "Look how she went about it. Two year waiting period, surgical trap setting, kidnapping one guy. Hurts nobody else. Deviated from this plan only after Batman shows up, starts trying to lure him into the same situation. I think you got another angle."

"You want me to drop the illegal evidence angle? I think it's solid." 

"Don't drop it. They're two peas in a pod. Just like us. On the one hand you got Batman doin whatever the grand fuck he wants lookin for conviction. Assault, illegal search and seizure, etcetera. On the other hand, you got Batman's interference _causing more crime._ " 

Dent was strangely excited. "Explain." 

Harv settled back into the role without rancor, "Couple lawyers took the angle that Batman encouraged their client - mostly Joker, that guy can't take personal responsibility for anything - to do worse crime. It don't stick usually. Jury doesn't like people playing that kinda game, acting like people should sit back and enjoy the show of two narcs ruining other people's lives. But what you can prove, what you can say, is that Batman shows up and scares the shit out of half these people and they offend _trying to get away from him_ or stop him hurting them. The more times it happens, the more likely it is to happen. We're already saying the Bat's contaminating cases, it's related that he's stalking people. Nygma's not like Joker. She wanted to hurt the person who hurt her, nobody else. Cops wouldn't have made this happen. Batman's a risk to the public health." 

Dent knew better than to argue that the cops were also corrupt - they had faces, names, badges. There was a dim hope of getting one of them in trouble, where with Batman, there was none. He thought about the skylight on the roof of the police station, and sighed. "Alright, I'll thread it in." 

"Not gonna flip for it?" 

Dent hesitated. "No. I flipped to do this case. I'm doing it right. If I think something's pertinent, I'll include it. But you really think she's innocent?" 

Harv took a little while to answer. "I think she wouldn't be in Arkham if it weren't for the Bat. She's not a monster... not like us." 

Dent set the folder aside, not contesting either character summary. "So I can rely on you to help me. To point out where the Bat's breaking the system in the name of justice." 

Harv laughed again, endlessly amused. "You handle justice. I'll take care of revenge." 

That afternoon, Harvey Dent met with Nygma back at her place, and tossed a manila envelope onto the table, picking up a box of noodles in exchange. Eddie looked over the folder in silence, then peeked over the top of it at Dent. 

"So you probably know I find legalese boring." Eddie ventured, which was an ego-saving way of putting forth that she'd gotten screwed hard on Mockridge's contract. Dent wasn't surprised. 

"Law's there to take advantage." He returned, "But sure. You want the plain-English version. That's a list of confirmed witnesses I can call to testify to your good character, explain how the Batman aggravated their own behavior."

"Is that relevant?" Eddie was mystified, "Wouldn't they dismiss it or accuse you of wasting court time?"

Dent ate a couple more noodles. "Trust me, Eddie." 

The Riddler's expression indicated she was certainly _trying._ "So, is this all you have?" 

Harvey laughed. "Chasing down the location of half these people, some of em with former criminal records, making sure they get served with summons, and building half the case in one day is 'all'?"

Eddie was abashed, seeking to repair the damage. "Right. How much do I owe you for this, by the way?" 

The lawyer waved her off. "Nothing. Just show up like you promised."


	3. Chapter 3

Eddie showed up for the arraignment, and so did Gotham's top journalists and a gaggle of rubberneckers. Whether the attention was positive or negative, Eddie seemed to thrive on it. She was so distracted by all the clamor and hubbub, _the mask that's going to fight the Bat_ , that it took several minutes waiting in the holding cell for their official summons before she noticed how distant the lawyer looked.

"What's the matter?" She asked finally. 

Harvey laced his fingers. "Got a call from Van Dorn. She wants to deal." 

Eddie's expression changed from bemusement to horror. "What?" 

"She said she'd agree to lesser charges; attempted voluntary manslaughter, diminished capacity--"

The Riddler scrambled up from the holding cell's bench, betrayed beyond words, but words had always been her strength. "I know what _diminished capacity_ means, Harvey. You're trying to send me back to Arkham!" 

"Calm down and don't make a scene." Harvey kept his voice at its regular _sotto voce_ growl. 

Eddie stepped closer to the bars, hissing, "'Calm down' is easy for you to say. How dare you do this to me? You--"

"It's not up to me to bargain. I just heard her out. If she wasn't scared we'll win, she wouldn't have called me. I told you she's not a fool. She's gambling that I'll be afraid I can't pull the same trick when I don't have everything under control, when I'm not arguing for myself."

Dent let those words sink in, and then continued, "You have to start trusting me, Eddie. I know the law's fucked you before, but I wouldn't be here if I wasn't fighting for you, and you're in charge of how this goes. All I can do is advise you and work with your decisions."

Eddie faltered. That comment about trust, the reminder of how easily she'd been bamboozled, humiliated by legal jargon, her innate hatred of helplessness... and being there, in that cage, completely dependent on Harvey Dent, was anathema to her entire outlook. She managed, subdued but firm, "I don't want to deal with her. I don't have diminished capacity. I'm _not crazy._ " 

Harvey reached through the bars to touch Eddie's wrist, lightly. "Alright. So we'll fight it. You want to testify?"

"Yes. I do." 

Dent gave no sign of disappointment. "I'll see you in a couple minutes. The judge will be talking to me, so you just keep yourself composed and look charming." 

He left, heading to the room assigned on the the docket number. Bail had already been posted, the judge at the arraignment wouldn't be the same as the judge at the actual trial - and Harvey was expecting the whole thing to be over with in three minutes. The prosecutor wasn't Van Dorn, it was her junior assistant... Ruth Torres, his memory supplied after a moment. He'd probably not see her again. 

Eddie was escorted into the room by the court bailiff, doing a good job hiding her nervousness, as instructed. 

"This court will come to order. Honorable judge Vincent Graves presiding." 

"Court case number 48 1 00077 3, People of Gotham City Vs. Eddie Nygma. Would you take a seat, Nygma?" 

Dent motioned to Eddie to sit as the judge continued, "Have you reviewed the advice of rights form with your client, and do you believe the defendant understands her rights?" 

"Yes, your honor." 

Torres signed the form, handing it over to Dent with only mild revulsion at having to get near him, when he was used to the bias of far worse against his appearance - rather than his behavior. He appreciated it, in a perverse way, as he handed over the form to the judge. 

"Do you waive reading of the information?" From Graves. 

"Yes." Harvey kept calm, hoping his poise was encouraging to Eddie. The judge looked toward her. 

"To the charge in count one, attempted murder, a violation of Gotham City Penal Law 110.05, how do you plead? Guilty or not guilty?"

Eddie stood up, leaning on the desk. "Not guilty. And can I--"

"You may not at this time make any self incriminating statements." Said Graves.

Dent suddenly really appreciated him a good deal more for that last part. Emphasizing that Eddie was only going to torpedo herself here if she tried to explain what had happened. Even the mild look the judge then visited on Dent wasn't enough to curtail his goodwill - a silent question about why he hadn't told Eddie to keep herself in check. He _had_ , but he couldn't blame her for trying to defend herself. That was human nature. 

Graves gave them a court date - for a preliminary hearing - and then Eddie and Dent were free to go. Eddie remained mystified about how little time the whole thing had taken, and how impersonal it was. 

"You only went to Arkham twice," Dent remarked, on the trip back to Eddie's place, "Must've been a blur to you, not having any friends or anyone to explain the process. First time, you had some kind of shock to the brain, I'm surprised they didn't put you into a real hospital."

Inwardly, Dent was surprised. Harv was not. A body would have to be a real fool to think Gotham was going to treat anyone fairly, where everything was crooked except the skyline. 

The second time, Eddie had been rambling about how Batman had escaped and hadn't been focusing on anything happening around her. Little wonder she was sent back to Arkham promptly. 

"Are you... going to stay over again? I can help you actually pull the couch bed out this time. It's not that much of a puzzle, you know." Eddie offered, when they got back to her place. Dent felt Harv stirring with curious interest, but couldn't place why. Usually Harv only reacted to external threats, triggers of injustice or bullying. 

"Is there something you want me to explain about the process?" He wondered. 

Eddie shook her head. "No, no, nothing like that. I promise, I'm not trying to interfere with your legal strategy. You're quite smart, I trust you have events in hand. And, in case you misunderstand my intentions, I don't expect you to stay awake all night - or raise the stakes in our relationship." 

Most people might have dismissed Eddie's words as babble or unusual phrasing, but then most people were fools, and Dent was getting used to the way Eddie spoke. As the Riddler excused herself and retreated into the bathroom, Dent watched her go. 

_Stay awake all night, raise the stakes._ Hold a vigil, up the ante. _Vigil-ante._ Well, that could only mean one man. Poor Eddie probably thought it less likely that Batman would show if two of 'his rogues' were present to repel him. 

When Eddie came back out again, Dent was sitting on the couch, reading the morning paper he hadn't gotten a chance to look over prior. 

"If Batman shows, I'll slug him." Harv's voice was calm, soothing, but it was definitely the growl, the low indication that he would take violent action. The smile that dawned on Eddie's face was almost heartbreaking. 

"Oh. You got it." Her emphasis indicated 'I agree', but the words themselves could equally mean 'You're right!'. 

In the following weeks, Dent got closer to Eddie than he ever thought he could get to another person after his engagement with Grace broke. His friendship with Bruce had always been mostly-superficial, privately disgusted by Bruce's airheaded behavior and privileged background, but finding him an unwise man to alienate, since Wayne Industries had so much influence in Gotham. But Eddie had a particular _je ne sais quoi,_ even Harv was charmed, and Harv's entire function as a biological subroutine was to protect Dent from things he couldn't or wouldn't protect himself from. It was Harv's _job_ to be suspicious. 

A week on, Dent paged through the paper, remarking wryly, "Scarecrow's caught again. That's good, he was on my maybe list to call, but escaped felons don't usually respond to court summons." 

"Jonathan's quite reasonable, when he's not intoxicated. He puts on quite a large amount of the _god of fear, hosannas of terror_ to ensure he ends up in Arkham - easier to break out of, and the guards are comparatively less brutal than Stonegate Penitentiary." Eddie agreed, filing a few things in the lockbox of her own personal design, in the (perhaps vain) hope that Batman wouldn't break in and rifle through her files. "I know I'm biased, but I wouldn't call _him_ crazy either. But why 'maybe'?" 

The lawyer clipped the article. "More about how they'd perceive him. Sometimes an endorsement can do more harm than good. A clever line of questioning could lead the jury down the path that Scarecrow and Batman are cut from the same cloth, they both want to scare people they think 'deserve it'. Guy cheated some mob-run bookies out of a couple grand, he didn't knock over a five and dime." 

"Easy riddle." Eddie played with her cane, twisting it in her fingers in precise half turns, "Why do supervillains rob socialites, scofflaws, and sinners - and not soup kitchens?"

"Robbing other criminals is where the money is." Dent returned, "But some criminals own the system more blatantly than others. Thorne..." He made a fist. 

"Ah." Eddie was unsure how to proceed with the anger, a little concerned, even though it wasn't directed at her, she'd already spent sufficient time around people who transmuted rage into violence. Dent's undamaged eye fixed on her face, reading her expression, and the fist unclenched with an immediacy that was born of long habit. 

"Sorry." He refocused on the newspaper, then set it aside after a moment, "Preliminary hearing's tomorrow."

Eddie blinked, "We've always waived those before. To get to the trial." 

Dent's grin was wolfish. "Well your current attorney's not waiving this one, no way. Prelim's to force the prosecutor to offer whatever evidence they have, and if it's all bat contaminated, this thing might not even _go_ to trial. Waiving a hearing is only good for the prosecutor, it's there for us and we're gonna make sure you get every constitutional right you're entitled to have." 

The Riddler sat, slinging her legs across one of the couch arms, "Christ, Harvey. I had no idea exactly how short a stick I was getting. I'm glad you're on _my_ side." 

_It's about time someone was._ Dent felt the shadow of the Bat from one side, the shadow of the law on the other, and both fueled the righteous fury in him. The idea that he had ever believed in the capital-L Law shamed him, the way he'd struggled to put away people like Thorne who found loopholes and corruption everywhere, and thrived on the fringes while taunting all his work and calm, methodical patience. 

_Refocus. Refocus. Don't lose this for Eddie._ He told himself, begging off Harv's insensate energy that cried for blood to oil the rusty workings of the justice machine. _I have to do this right._

"The witnesses." He passed the list over to Eddie, who scanned it. "If we call good character witnesses, they can call bad ones. I think we should, but I want you to be advised." 

Was there anyone out there who could slur her character? Eddie shrugged. "Maybe a few doctors. Frankly, Mockridge won't come, not even to ensure he could put me away. And we know Batman won't show. Who else could Van Dorn call?"

Dent frowned, thinking it over. "Any living family?"

The response was clipped. "No." 

Decisive. Maybe too decisive, but Eddie had one thing going for her - she always told the truth. It was just up to Dent to find a way to prove that to a jury, and then maybe their joint decision to have Eddie testify in her own defense would help, rather than harm them. 

"Former employees?" Henchmen.

"I always treat my people well." Eddie smiled, "And they treat me well, in return." 

Dent was glad to hear it. After a few more hours of back and forth, Eddie retreated to her bedroom, and Dent remained up, as he often did. But he was sleeping over at Eddie's so often that he'd actually brought along Janus, and it was only her soft hiss that alerted him to the balcony window opening. 

_No, no, no, not now_ , Dent thought, as Harv reacted like a scalded animal to find his piece, looking up at the bat-shaped silhouette in the window, _Fuck. **Please** not like this--_


	4. Chapter 4

For what felt like an eternity, Batman remained crouched on the window-ledge, and Dent remained standing at the couch with the case-file all over the floor and the gun pointed smack between those white soulless eyes. 

"I'll kill you." Harv warned, keeping his voice down. Eddie didn't need to wake up, hopefully he could scare Batman off. Having this freak bust in might cave his client, might make her unable to take the stand, Batman had a **bad** fucking effect on some of 'his rogues' and perhaps the most profoundly bad effect on Eddie. 

"You won't flip for it?" Batman's voice was far calmer than it had a right to be under such duress.

 _Fuck no I won't flip for it, we're in accord. This is part of the case. We know that's why you're here._ He'd slipped into 'we', he shouldn't use 'we'. The doctors said 'we' was bad, said that it encouraged Harv and the thinking that had resulted in Harv's birth. Whether or not the diagnosis of multiple personality disorder, or dissociative identity disorder, was 'real' or had been encouraged by his therapist, didn't really matter in the long run. This was how he'd conceptualized things, it was how he was reacting to them. 

"No." He said instead, still conversational, Harv's low mutter, "Get the fuck out of here. I already called the cops on you once."

The vigilante stepped inside, instead. Harv cocked back the hammer on the gun. 

"I'll do it." He said, "I swear I'll do it." 

Batman's mouth twitched. "If you fire, or call the police, they'll have the right to search this place. Can you be sure that Eddie hasn't gone back to her old ways? Leaving clues, stealing things? If the police find evidence--" 

Again, as with Grace and saving her life, neither Harv nor Dent demanded the toss, red hot rage lit his spine and roared like a phoenix into his veins. As one, Harvey Dent shot at the Bat, but something in his eyes must have betrayed him early, because Batman moved first and the shot went wild. Of those bat-themed razors sliced through Dent's palm, and in a second, the Bat was gone, leaving Dent bleeding and the curtains billowing. 

"Fuck." Harv took stock of the damage, fumbling for a bandage, considering his duty - protecting Harvey - failed, but feeling oddly satisfied anyway as he tied it off with his teeth. Eddie scrambled into the room far too late to take part in the drama. 

"What happened? What were you--" Eddie didn't have to be a genius (but she was) to take one look at the open window and deduce what had happened. "Oh my god. He was here?" 

She turned her attention to wrapping up his injury properly, and then Dent sent her off to get changed, pointing out that the police would be notified by neighbors regardless. 

"Let me handle it, don't touch my gun." He took an aspirin and a glass of water, going nowhere near the window, instead heading for the phone. He dialed the police.

"911. This is Harvey Dent. I'm calling to report a break in. I shot at the intruder out of fear for my life." He knew that was the appropriate phrase to use. If anyone tried to arrest him, (which would really put a damper on Eddie's own trial), self defense was smoothed by those words, "He's gone, I have a gun, the gun is on the floor." The dispatcher gave him the expected instructions not to pick up the gun or move anything, and Dent agreed. 

The room was freezing by the time Bullock showed up. 

The detective took a quick look around but didn't search the place. He directed the forensics folks to make records of the room, take pictures and prise the bullet out of the wall. They didn't handcuff Dent, though he'd been expecting it and had warned Eddie to expect it, in case the Riddler got panicky about the imminent arrest of the only honest lawyer in Gotham. 

"We'll be outta your hair in no time." Harry Bullock reassured Eddie gruffly, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Get finished up and close that window. Don't bother dusting. There ain't ever prints where the Bat's concerned."

Bullock took their statements, verifying that Eddie was the legal owner of the apartment and that Eddie consented to have Dent in her home at the time of the incident. Then he advised Dent see a doctor about the injury, promised to be in touch regarding the legal status of Dent's gun, and was halfway down the hall before something occurred to Dent. 

"Hold on." Dent caught up, and the toothpick gnawing detective glanced back. "You hate Batman, right?" 

Bullock was equanimous, "Could a ten pound sack of flour make a big biscuit?" 

Eddie, who had followed Dent outside, laughed with that keen high edge of someone shaken but genuinely amused. Dent pressed his slim advantage. 

"Testify against him for us."

The detective didn't answer right away, and his face might as well have been carved from granite. Then he leaned against the wall in the hallway, chewing the toothpick almost in half. "You think if you make it so his convictions don't stick, he'll stop showing up? You can't be that optimistic." 

Dent was not that optimistic, no, but with Eddie right behind him, he chose his words carefully. "Before Thorne, I stood for something in this town. I was ready to put Batman away for you, if you caught him. Remember?" 

"I remember." Bullock's gaze was steady. "But this time you just wanna bounce Eddie off the hook. What happens when it's the Joker? I mean, assuming Arkham could ever hold the damn clown, would you push against bat-evidence for him, too?" 

"I wouldn't need to." Dent confessed, glancing with his bad side back at Eddie, then to Bullock again, "Joker would never take my help. He sees this whole thing as a game between himself and Batman, and when he 'loses', he goes back to Arkham to wait for the next round." 

Eddie looked guilty, the worst possible expression around any policeman, and retreated backwards a few steps. Harvey knew that the wording had been the problem, that Eddie's own 'challenges' to Batman were construed as a game, both by her and by the media. He didn't try apologizing for himself, knowing better, and looked back at Bullock. 

The cop shrugged. "I ain't gonna make you subpoena me, we both got enough to do. I'll show up if you need me there. And if you see the Bat again, tell him I'm testifying against him cuz he pulled me out at three in the morning for this break-in. Alright?" 

He winked at Eddie, who for once didn't seem to take the positive attention in good stride, and then left. The forensics team cleared out in short order too, empty handed. Dent stood in the hallway for a few minutes with Eddie.

"When they asked what happened," The shrewd little woman had keyed in on something and wasn't likely to let it go, "You said you exchanged some words with the Batman and then shot at him. What did you say?" 

Dent thought back. "'I'll kill you, I'll do it'." 

"Strange." Eddie's eyes narrowed, cat green and every bit as intent on a potential mark. "If that was in your mind and he was in your sights, why not just shoot?" 

Dent said nothing. 

Eddie was immediately apologetic, "I'm not accusing you of not trying. Or - that is, I do trust you. But little details bother me. As a lawyer I am sure you understand that I like to make sure everything fits to the best of my knowledge. Were you trying to figure out what he was doing here?"

The former District Attorney sighed. "I didn't want you to wake up. I thought I could scare him off, spare you a bad time. It doesn't mean I don't believe in your ability to handle things." 

Eddie started back toward her apartment door, then stopped, still bothered. "No, I suppose it wouldn't. But then you did fire, after all. What changed?" 

Deep down, Dent knew it wasn't fair to keep things from her, to expect trust from her and offer none of his own. Even if he thought it was for her own good. He opened his mouth, but then Harv reared up all force and bluster inside him with one word. 

_Coin._

He could no more deny the impulse than a moth to a flame. Dent dug the scarred silver dollar out of one pocket, and flipped for it. Before it came down, he guessed that Harv was so intent on this because it wasn't solely case related. Batman shaking Eddie was one thing, he could calm her down in due time before the actual trial, if the prelim failed them. 

_Good heads we tell her the truth. Bad heads you shut your trap._

The morality of the coin was complicated, for a binary system. Harv dictated the 'terms' of the damaged result, which might not consistently reflect the exact opposite of the clean side - nor would it necessarily represent _evil_ constantly. Sometimes, certainly. But the choice could just as easily be a self harm or neglectful choice as a socially objectionable one. Only Harvey made the rules, and really understood the consequences of either side. In this case - he knew that withholding the information would damage the trust between them, and that truth was its own justification for existing, but a confession of what the Bat had said would upset her. 

The decision was ambiguous enough that he didn't _want_ to choose. Harv felt that uncertainty instinctively, and called for tosses. 

He looked down at the coin's result, then at Eddie. "I can't say." 

Eddie followed his glance to the coin, which left him no room for compromise. She bit the inside of her lip, clearly irritated and holding in an angry demand. "Fine. Whatever. I'm not allowed to riddle in the courtroom but I suppose you'll be doing _that._ " She regretted it as soon as she'd said it, turning away, "I'm sorry. It's been a stressful night." 

"You should get some sleep." Harv suggested. 

She had to agree, heading back inside... only to find the safe she'd designed to be batproof open, and empty. She hissed through her teeth, looking around the room frantically, but of course the Bat had come and gone again in the interim of talking to Bullock and her discussion with Dent. 

"He--cracked--" She pointed, incoherently, more angry that the Batman had figured out her lockbox within that small amount of time than that he had stolen the notes she and Dent had gathered for her trial. 

Dent was getting _really_ tired of that flying rat, but he marched over to the couchbed regardless. "Let him. What's he got? The witnesses for your trial? Let's see how the judge likes the idea that Batman's interfering with the case I'm building _about Batman interfering with criminal cases._ " 

Eddie didn't have a ready answer, and Dent turned over to sleep, pressing his good half into the pillow. "Do you - have copies?" She asked tentatively. 

"Mm. I have all the important information handwritten... and up here." He touched his temple, "Even Batman can't lift this. Go to sleep." 

He heard the Riddler's soft footfalls retreating, closing his eyes again. Harv was not so keen to let Dent sleep, thinking, _What now? How far will he go? He knows about Grace. How? Did we ever find that out?_

_Stop using we._ Harvey's hand throbbed and he turned over restlessly. _And stop ruminating. I have an important job to do and I need sleep to do it._

 _'Ruminating'. Cute. You picked up all this worthless crap from the Arkham doctors and none of it ever helped us. You know what helped us? **We** did. We helped ourself. Don't forget it._

Harvey closed his eyes tighter. _Shut up._

_That doesn't sound like you. Where's the 'please, be quiet, mister bad man, I don't want to fucking hurt your feelings'. ...We need to kill the Bat._

Aloud, Harvey said, "I've **tried.** "

_Try harder._

Harv's thought process was often irrational - he had a bug up his ass about the Bat break-in and it didn't matter if Batman was actually physically present or not. Harv wanted him dead and the problem 'solved'. That wasn't possible, but he kept agitating Dent for several minutes along the same line until Dent made repeated promises to 'deal with' the Batman at the earliest available opportunity. He finally managed to drift off to sleep, but his dreams were restless, fragmented ones involving strong emotions of fear, distress, and predominantly, guilt.

He woke to the smell of waffles and the sun streaming in, and used coffee to compensate for how poorly rested he felt, commandeering Eddie's bathroom to get as presentable as possible without the use of prosthetics. Janus stuck a paw under the door, trying to get inside, and Harvey crouched down to poke playfully at her toe-beans. He opened the door, and she climbed into his lap and arched into his hands. After the incident, he found that he appreciated animals more than ever before, both for the company they could provide and their lack of fear about his appearance. 

Only Grace had been as kind to him, and he still missed her, but he knew he couldn't give her the kind of life she deserved. He kissed the top of Janus' head, stroking her slowly and listening to Eddie in the kitchen. 

"Wish me luck today." He asked her, and she rubbed against his hand in answer. "Attagirl. Thanks. I'll see you in a few hours." 

Dent ventured into the kitchen, about to suggest they feed Janus and head out, but he noticed a shallow Tupperware container full of wet cat food already by the fridge, and a bowl of water closer to the living room. 

"Hope it's not too much trouble to take care of my cat." Dent said. 

"She's a sweetheart." Eddie returned, "Pawsitively adorable." 

Dent couldn't help but laugh. "Come on. We don't want to keep the judge waiting."


	5. Chapter 5

In the courtroom, Dent looked into every face for Batman. He couldn't help it, he'd always found the concept unnerving. He could be shaking hands and smiling, being cordial with someone who had thrown down with him only a few hours ago. 

If Eddie was thinking the same, she kept mum, sitting at the counsel table and smiling occasionally at reporters. Not so much that it seemed like she was smug about getting off, Dent had already cautioned her on the way there against being too excitable. She was under a microscope, fair or not.

The magistrate judge was a flinty eyed woman named Herrera, businesslike and known for a sharpness in keeping lawyers in line. Privately, he was glad to see her. If they played by the rules, he could win.

 _Please._ Harv scoffed, _the system's dirty. A clean game won't win you shit._

Publicly he gave no especial reaction to Harv, and to Van Dorn, he only nodded. 

'Winning' a prelim was harder than winning the trial itself, particularly because Van Dorn only had prove that a crime happened and that it was reasonable to suspect that Eddie did it. But she still couldn't use bat-evidence if Dent could prove it was tainted, and that was exactly what he was planning to do.

Failing that, Dent was here to feel her out, to prowl around her witnesses, set them at ease, and see exactly how strong her case was. She'd already approached to plea, showing doubt, but much like Batman approaching Dent with fear - approaching Eddie with a compromise that involved admitting her mental instability would make her dig in her heels even deeper.

 _Doubling down._

"Good morning, counsel." Herrera greeted, getting a greeting back from both of them. As before, Dent courteously waived reading of the complaint. "Thank you, sir." Herrera was formal, and for a minute it put Dent back in the mind of how his life had been before all this, when he'd made inroads in addressing Gotham's corruption legally, nonviolently.

 _And I'll be here, when you need me again._ From Harv.

Dent couldn't say definitively he wouldn't need Harv, but he hoped very much that he wouldn't. 

There was no jury in the prelim, only the judge, whatever witnesses and whatever evidence required. Van Dorn called her first witness, James Gordon. 

"Motion to exclude." Dent said at once, flipping his coin - not for any outcome, Eddie was relieved to see, just out of habit. He wasn't objecting to Gordon, specifically, he just knew to get that out there quickly, before the trial itself, so that he could object to future witnesses if necessary.

Herrera said, "The motion to exclude any potential witnesses will be granted." 

The old hawk, Gordon, was a regular in criminal cases and was familiar with the procedure, swearing in, spelling his name for the record, along with his age and place of employment. 

"How long have you been Police Commissioner of the Gotham City Department?" Van Dorn asked. 

"5 years." 

"Have you ever seen the defendant before?" 

Gordon looked toward the defense table. "Yes ma'am." 

Dent watched silently, legs folded, and Eddie looked between the defense lawyer's leonine boredom and Van Dorn's brittle control with concern. 

Van Dorn remained at a comfortable distance from the witness stand. "How many times?" 

"Twice. Once when she dropped off a box in my office that ended up being a VR computer, and another time when she confessed to a string of robberies." 

Dent sat up, saw Van Dorn's head turn slightly in his direction. He didn't like how quick Gordon was to remind everyone in his testimony that Eddie was a criminal, but he didn't object. 

Van Dorn continued, "So you're familiar with her. You can confirm you saw her on the night of January 2nd, 1948, engaged in combat with the Batman." 

"Objection, motion to strike "engaged in combat with the Batman", conclusive and narrative." Dent slid in carefully, testing Herrera, testing Gordon. 

"Sustained. Stricken." 

Van Dorn amended, "Was it Eddie Nygma at the Gotham Palisades charity function?" 

"Yes." Gordon answered. 

Van Dorn left it at that, with no further questions, and Dent knew she was testing **him** in return. He got up, but didn't move too close to the box. It would be easy enough to be accused of intimidating Gordon, and he wanted Herrera on his side, if possible. 

Harv flickered in the darkness, a shiny silver beacon. _Eat him, eat him alive._

"You mentioned a VR machine." Dent was friendly, "Can you tell us more about that?" 

Gordon's eyes stayed fixed on Dent's, "Nygma invented some kind of computer and dropped it off at the precinct. I put on the helmet and she used me as bait to catch Batman in one of her deluded schemes." 

Dent's head swung around a fraction to catch Eddie in his peripheral vision, the non-damaged eye. She'd clenched her fists, but she wasn't being disruptive. Small miracle. 

"Was that a big deal to you?" Dent asked.

Gordon scowled. "Of course it was. I almost died." 

"So do you think it's fair to say that you're biased about my client's lethality." 

The Commissioner only realized the trap when he'd stepped into it, and he hesitated, but cops were trained to deflect when caught out, and he didn't stop long before deciding to gnaw off his leg - hypothetically. "I deal with a lot of costumed maniacs in Gotham, she's not the worst." 

"Mm," Dent didn't take that response personally. He enjoyed cross examining the police, especially the ones with tempers. Getting them to lose their shit in front of a jury was a good tactic, and nobody understood how easy it was to fly off the handle better than Dent. "Both previous incidents that you arrested Eddie for had Batman's involvement. How often is Batman involved with the GPD?" 

"Objection, irrelevant." Van Dorn contested from behind him. Dent's eyes flicked to Herrera. 

"Sustained. The Gotham Police aren't on trial, Mr. Dent." 

_Yet._ Thought Dent. 

"I'm sorry, your Honor. No further questions." No reason to tip his hand here. He had plenty of ammunition for the full-scale trial, if it came to that. He'd probed and found injury close to the surface, and he could enhance that wound with only a small effort. He'd need to be careful not to bully in front of the jury, though. The Commissioner was popular. 

Batman, maybe not so much. 

Gordon was dismissed, and Van Dorn called her next witness. Renee Montoya, also a cop. Bullock's partner. She gave her name as well, and Dent kept an eye on her. He wondered if she'd be as prejudiced as Gordon, but the idea that she'd be prejudiced at all felt certain. 

"Can you tell us the extent of your involvement with the alleged robbery, Ms. Montoya?" 

Dent listened to the general summary, the back and forth, finding nothing objectionable; she mentioned being called to the scene, confirmed Batman's presence and was the arresting officer for Nygma. 

Dent let her go without cross, but he watched her like a shark as she left. He'd have to get Bullock's opinion on her later.

Of the evidence produced, Dent managed to dismiss a handgun purportedly owned by one of Eddie's henchmen, three out of five of the jewelry items stolen, rope used to restrain one of the security guards, two bullets fired by the aforementioned handgun, and - most damning - all three of the 'riddles' that had been provided with Eddie herself at the time of her capture. None of the items obtained by the Bat that were produced by prosecution had a chain of custody. For all they knew, Dent pointed out, Batman could have written those riddles himself. 

Whatever remained, mostly hair samples at the scene and eyewitnesses, were enough to ensure that Van Dorn had a case... Barely. The gold watch and pearl necklace were discovered on one of Eddie's henches - Buster "Lightfoot" Foote, and while they were sufficient evidence to strengthen the links of Eddie's presence at the function, Van Dorn must have known she wasn't going to get a conviction on that alone.

Herrera indicated for the record that bail had already been set, giving them a court date two months on, and dismissing them all from the courtroom. Dent fought the impulse to gloat as he watched Van Dorn leave. He'd give her some time to think it over, really consider what she could bring to the case. 

"We didn't win." Eddie, from Dent's shoulder, "And I can't believe you gave the Bat credit for those riddles." 

"Oh, we didn't win, but don't worry. We certainly didn't lose." Dent stood in the hall for a few more minutes until Van Dorn was out of sight. "Just because Herrera gave us a date. Van Dorn might think it over and decide to dismiss it herself. Insufficient evidence, unconstitutional searches... a couple witnesses who're just dripping with Bat-involvement..." 

"You're very clever." Eddie said, slowly, "You mentioned the Batman to let her know you'd be talking about him if she went forward with this." 

Dent shrugged. "It's a precedent. What Bullock mentioned. The more times it happens, the more times it will happen. Especially if Batman hits guys with money. Guys like Thorne. Their lawyers will take my trick and start applying it, and the police will have to reject Batman's help." 

Eddie thought it over, following him, "I don't think Batman will quit, you know. That grudge, he's not doing it because it makes any kind of sense. Something much more emotional drives him. And, since you're my lawyer and we have a confidentiality clause..."

Dent held up a hand, a bid for silence, until they were out of the courtroom. Someone like Nygma, who knew when and where she'd think it was a good idea to even obliquely condemn herself? 

But once they were outside, with the sunlight struggling through the smoggy Gotham horizon, Nygma didn't confess to anything case related. 

"A riddle even I don't know the answer to: if he won't quit, but he can't win, what will Batman do?" 

Dent thought it over. "Safe bet, nothing good." He walked the coin over his scarred knuckles, contemplating, then thumbed the scarred side. He slipped the coin away without flipping. "We'll burn that bridge when we come to it." 

Two days later, Dent got a phone call. 

"Mr. Dent. I'm interested in pursuing your services as a defense lawyer." 

Jonathan Crane's cultured, calm voice. 

Dent grinned. "Agree to testify for Nygma and I'll be much more interested in taking you." 

Surprise, curiosity, and a momentary silence on the other end. Dent waited, giving Jon the time he needed to think, or plan, or decide - whatever it was he was deciding. He was presenting clearheaded, at least, and he didn't have the thick slur of a broken jaw, or the stuffed-up sound of someone with a broken nose. 

"What could I possibly say for Eddie that she can't say for herself?" He finally asked, and not in the tone of someone being obstinate for the sake of it. He sounded like a bemused country boy. 

Harvey sat back in his chair, holding up one thumb to Eddie, who'd just come in with a bag of groceries, and then answered, "I'm considering your opinion valuable, as a former expert of psychological processes. Not just an acquaintance. You can testify on Eddie's behalf." 

He covered the speaker portion of the phone, adding to Eddie, "Talkin' to Crane." 

Eddie relaxed, appreciating the reassurance without saying so, and trying to act moments later as though nothing worrisome had been going through her mind. Dent couldn't blame her. 

Crane meanwhile was wise enough to know if he refused, Dent would have no reason to help him, and the bifurcated lawyer represented the best shot he had at staying out of prison. 

"For a minute, I thought you'd called one of my shrinks," Eddie blushed, "I'd rather not go through that. I'm not going back to Arkham, but having them give their mindless opinions would be nearly as bad." 

Dent waved his bad hand. "Patient/doctor confidentiality clause. I've already looked over the witnesses Van Dorn plans to call. I'd crush any attempt to violate that right and she knows it."

Janus leapt up onto his lap, purring up a storm, and he smushed her face gently in both hands. Janus, not being much of a respectable cat, enjoyed it. "You know," Harv ventured, "I can _almost_ feel sorry for Van Dorn."


	6. Chapter 6

The next few weeks passed uneventfully. Dent spent the time gathering info to make his case for Eddie, and reassured her that there was no cause for alarm, from a small mountain of paperwork. 

"I only leave decisions up to chance. Never cases." 

Eddie leaned on her cane. "Ah, yes. That coin of yours. Can you explain that to me?" 

Dent shrugged, shuffling a few pages, and then tossed the coin to her. She caught it, astonished that he'd part so easily with it when it was such a vital part of his psychology. 

"Imagine you have a decision there's no easy answer to. Time's pressing, and it's important. It can lead you down a completely different path, full of other decisions you don't even know to guess at yet. Flip it - and see how it feels to let somebody else decide for you." 

Eddie held the coin between two gloved fingers, as if it were a magic talisman. 

_Somebody else._

She rubbed her neck, then flipped, and caught the coin in the same hand.

"What side?" Dent asked. 

"Bad." Eddie reported. She handed the coin back to Dent, who took it and put it into his breast pocket. 

He smiled, "Guess there's your permission." 

Eddie leaned on the wall. "It's different for you, I suppose. You're honor bound to the result. Some people might ignore it." 

Dent packed up his papers, not bothered by the questioning, as it was Eddie and she was famed for questioning. "Example. I can go to Arkham later today, to interview Crane directly, or I can wait another five days for Scarecrow's transfer to the county jail. He might take the opportunity to break out, and I wouldn't even blame him, but if I can secure a deposition from him today, it won't matter to your case if he escapes later. We both know that." 

Eddie didn't need to be told - and it would be massively to Crane's advantage to pull a breakout if possible. Batman was always a threat to their liberty, and Arkham not much of one (at least, not before Lock-Up), but if the Bat were going to show whether they were reformed or not, one might as well run and grant oneself unofficial clearance. 

"But--going to Arkham..." Eddie sounded distressed. The place was supremely unpleasant. 

"I know." Dent took the coin out, "Good heads, I go to Arkham voluntarily. Bad heads, I wait and risk losing a character witness." He paused, "But you're wrong - I don't **have** to flip. If you tell me you need me to do this, I'll do it." Ironic, that he spoke about wanting to overcome the feeling of indecision by placing his fate in the universe's hands, random chance. But when Grace had been threatened, Dent hadn't needed the flip to turn over the files to Thorne.

"If Crane runs, it won't destroy my case." Eddie said, thoughtfully. "Flip on it if you want." 

Dent flipped, catching the coin midair and examining it. "Looks like I'm headed to the Somerset District. I'll grab something to eat on the way and meet you back here in a few hours." 

Dent got up, stepping carefully over Janus, who had made it her mission in life to trip her master or at least get him to walk funny for several steps. He brought his briefcase, opening the door and heading downstairs, calculating taxi fare to Arkham. He'd never gone there on his own coin before. 

Eddie must have been rubbing off on him. 

"Take me to Arkham." He told the cabbie, squinting a little at the face. Right jaw for Batman, but it was hard to tell anything else. The voice, a smooth _yes sir_ , reminded him more of Wayne. He looked out the window as they drove, gradually leaving the city's major districts behind for the relative isolation of the Somerset District. It didn't surprise him that Eddie wanted to go nowhere near Arkham. Even Ivy, whose lawyer had managed to defeat Van Dorn on a similar premise, had been promptly returned to the Asylum on grounds of insanity. 

Eddie could say whatever she wanted about Jon skipping town and how it might impact her case, but she was better served disappearing, too. She could cost Dent all that bail and never even flinch, if she didn't care. 

He didn't tip the cabbie. He just didn't like the guy. 

Inside, Dr. Leland helped him to Scarecrow's cell, giving him the briefing on visiting hours as courteously as if he'd never been a former patient. He appreciated her quite a bit, she was one of the only decent doctors in the place, as far as he knew. 

Crane was seated on the bed with a book, but set it aside courteously when Dent entered. 

"Well, well. Nothing scares you, does it, Mr. Attorney." Crane marveled, "Not even venturing into the jaws of this lion." 

"Mmm. It does make me uncomfortable." Dent admitted, taking a seat in front of the bed. "And what about you, Mr. Crane?" 

"Mixter." Crane corrected idly, "I don't mind it here. The food is fairly bland, but it's quite peaceful." 

There were even at that moment a handful of people having an argument down the hall, so that might have been an ironic statement, but Dent took them at face value. "Right. But you'd rather be free." 

"And if your talents are consistent, I will be. Imagine, beating the Bat with his own 'justice'." Jon chuckled, "I can appreciate irony as much as the next person, you know." 

Dent didn't find it amusing, but he didn't argue, either. Instead, he handed Jon the deposition subpoena and let them read over the legalese at their leisure. 

"I'll update the form to correct your pronouns later." Dent said, "For now, everything else stays the same and you don't have to sign anything." 

Dent opened his briefcase and set up the recording device, which Jon eyed curiously. 

"Have you ever been involved in a deposition before?" Dent asked. 

"No." Jonathan was searching the device for red lights, but it wasn't recording just yet. 

Dent tried to put them at ease. "It's easy. I'll ask you questions, and record your answers. Van Dorn might want to do the same thing. Later, I'll type up what you've said into the machine on a transcript, and if you want, you can read it. Then if there's anything wrong we can fix it before you sign that it's all true." 

Jon tented their fingers. "I see." 

"You'll be under oath. That means that there may be penalties for lying. If you answer a question, I'll assume you understood it. If you don't understand a question, go ahead and tell me and I'll ask it another way." At Jon's nod, Dent turned the recording device on. "Give your full name and age for the record."

"Doctor Jonathan Crane. I'm 37 this past February." Jon stretched like a cat and relaxed on their bed perch, expectantly. 

"Where have you lived for the last ten years?" 

"Gotham. If you want my exact addresses, I suppose the ones prior to this cell block are easy to hunt down..." 

Dent waved them off, "That's fine. What's your educational background?" 

Jon suppressed a yawn, "I have a B.Sc.Psy and Ph.D. in Psychology, and I was a professor at Gotham University. Pre-tenure, obviously. I suppose the tenured professors are allowed to teach however they like."

"So you're a learned person." Dent said, for the record. 

Jon smiled as if the compliment were independent, and agreed. "Yes. I enjoy teaching, actually. That took a few years." 

"Did you find any other work after you were fired?" 

Jon was less pleased by that question. "Hn. I opened a chemical factory with an investment of family money. After I was fired from teaching, however, I retaliated against the University. _Batman_ put paid to that."

"Hold on, back up." Dent gently intervened before Jon could go on an anti-Batman screed. Plenty of time for that later. "What time period is this?"

"Two years or so after I was fired, I returned to the University." Jon clarified. "'46? Late '45? Thereabouts. Certain areas of my history are... a blur, I don't know times very well. But I remember people and events perfectly." 

"If I told you it was October 16th, 1946, would you agree with that date?" 

Jon thought about it for a moment. "Certainly it could be, I would." 

Dent nodded, consulting his papers, "Now, Batman." 

After a second, Crane pointed out, "You told me over the phone that you would be questioning me on the strength of Eddie's character." 

Dent looked down at the recording device, and then touched the pause button. "Off the record, Crane. That's definitely a big part of why I'm here. If you can tell me she's the sort who would genuinely reform, who Batman pushed to breaking, that would be very helpful and it would line up perfectly with his illegal evidence tampering, witness intimidation and all the rest." 

Jonathan laced their fingers behind their head. "Then why are you in here talking to me about _my_ criminal history with the Batman? Don't mistake me, I'm proud of my attempts. At some point I'll succeed. Particularly if he keeps showing up without gas masks in that belt of his. But I don't see how 'one of my fire and brimstone rants about the Batman', as Dr. Leland calls them, would help your current client in the least, or even be admissible." 

Dent hesitated, not sure how blunt he could be with them, but loathe to try to lead them astray and turn them from an amiable witness to a hostile one. 

"I'm afraid Van Dorn's going to try to impeach you. All it would take is a few inconsistent facts. I'm not here to play games or try to deceive you. I just want to make sure you understand everything she could possibly ask you, including your own 'criminal history'. It is relevant." 

Jon made a considering sound in the back of their throat. "That makes sense." 

They was being patient with him, and Dent was grateful for having decided to tell the truth. It didn't even occur to him that he hadn't flipped for it - the resistance, the concern had been there, but the impulse was lessened by the urgency of getting Eddie the testimony she needed as quickly as possible. 

Dent turned the tape back on and they resumed questioning, going through all of Jon's 'criminal capers' in detail. Not long into the session, but before they'd gotten to Eddie's endorsements, Jon's eyes flicked over Dent's shoulder, then widened. 

Dent looked over his shoulder, unsurprised to see the Bat standing shadowed outside the plexiglass. He made a fist. Couldn't even be sure he wouldn't have to fight the Bat over the evidence, the way he'd fought about Thorne's file. 

Then the 'Bat' took off the cowl, and stepped into the light, and Dent scowled at Jack Napier. 

"Jesus, you asshole." Dent said, on the record. 

Joker snickered. "The best part is, you knew they'd just let him in to harass your witness! So isn't the real joke the legal system, Gruesome? What are you gonna do, huh, when Batman decides to use his pet Commish to put your Riddler back here among all these mad people? Why--I bet he's already busting in to apprehend her, in your absence!" 

Eddie's voice, from down the hall. "You lose." 

Joker's turn to scowl, looking across to that side and nearly tripping on the cape. "I... think I see the bat signal. Gotta go!" 

He excused himself remarkably quickly as Eddie came to stand outside the plexiglass. Dent understood why - bullies preferred solitary targets, or duos. Dent was more shocked that Eddie had risked coming to see how things were going when she was terrified of the place. He turned the tape off. 

"Eddie." 

"How's it going, Fearmonger?" Eddie leaned on the glass. "You look a little thin still. I hope you're eating." 

Jon relaxed, "When I can. ...Now do tell if I'm overstepping, but Dent tells me you're going by she/her." 

Eddie grinned. "There's no riddle to my gender at all, Jon. All you had to do was ask. I'm a woman, as simple as that. I think I've known for a while, deep down... But now I'm sharing." 

The Scarecrow nodded, "Splendid. You know there is something about the costuming element that shakes one of stage fright for one's identity, I think. It's not my place to say who and under what circumstances, but we're far from the only two trans people I know of in Gotham who relate ourselves to cape and cowl experiences." 

Eddie glanced down the hall as Dr. Leland approached, backing up a step, and holding up her hands innocently as if to indicate she wasn't doing anything. "Hi. I'm here with my lawyer." She said immediately, indicating Dent.

"We won't be long. About thirty more minutes, max." Dent intoned, and Dr. Leland was amiable about letting Eddie hang around outside, in sight, even coming back to bring her a chair. Dent got back into the questioning smoothly enough, and in due time had the tape with a promise to send Jon the transcript to sign. Eddie flashed the green to pay for the taxi back. 

Dent didn't dislike that guy, and tipped him $10.


	7. Chapter 7

Eddie's apartment door was swinging open when the two returned from Arkham, and both shared a look of mingled irritation and concern. Harv took the opportunity to plead that Dent _not miss_ this time, and motioned first, Eddie bringing up the rear with caution.

Of all the people Dent would have expected to have broken into their apartment, Harley Quinn was near the bottom of the list. But there she was, tossing a cat toy for Janus and watching the cat spring and pounce and bite at it. 

"Attagirl, maim that good for nothin' ball! Show it who's boss! Yeaa!! Good girl!" Harley enthused, glancing up, "Oh! Hiya Rids, Dyad. Hope you don't mind I let myself in. I was waitin' outside but this lil' sweetheart was mewing and broke my heart into breakin' the law even though I am officially reformed for --the...second time. You're not gonna press charges?" 

"Course not." Dent closed the door behind Eddie, letting go of the gun inside his jacket. 

Harley saw it, of course. "Is that a piece or are you happy to see me? Oh! You must'a thought the Bat came in? Gosh, I didn't mean to put the wind up either of you. Sorry, mea maximum culpa." She grasped her gloved hands in front of herself in penance.

Eddie glanced at Dent, then smiled at Harley. "It's good to see you. What are you up to lately?" 

The jester leaned back with a jingle, dramatically, as Janus jumped up onto her chest and poked into her face. "Playin' fetch with Whiskers here? It doesn't really work, but at least I get exercise every time on account of she doesn't ever bring it back. She goes to get it just fine, though." Harley thought a second. "Oh, you mean why am I here to visit? It's on the up and up. I heard about your court thing, it's in all the papers. I thought I could help." 

Eddie mouthed the word _help_ as if it were its own kind of brain teaser, then headed to the kitchen, "Well, can I offer you a drink? We'll talk about how you might - be able to help me." 

Harley bit her lip. "Chocolate milk. Please and thank you." 

Eddie laughed. "It's the middle of January. I have hot chocolate, though." 

"Ooh." Harley made exaggerated grabbing hands, "An acceptable substitution." 

The lawyer sat down in the living room, a little nervous without being able to say why. Perhaps it was the juxtaposition of Eddie's normal apartment with the banter he was more accustomed to from Arkham. Or perhaps he was aware that the situation as a whole was changing... and neither he, nor Eddie, really knew how the Bat would react to what he was doing. 

But one thing the Bat did know was that Dent was the driving force of this new gambit. And something Jon had said during the deposition stuck with him as he typed it all up officially, slow and methodical.

 **THE WITNESS:** I had two hired men with me on the second occasion I attacked Gotham University. Their Christian names were Nigel and Anthony. I don't know their last names.  
 **MR. DENT:** That's fine.   
**THE WITNESS:** The reason I didn't bring these men with me again is that they - that is to say - Anthony did not survive the encounter with the Batman. He died from a fall off the dirigible.   
**MR. DENT:** What happened to Nigel?   
**THE WITNESS:** He fell from the dirigible also and sustained brain trauma that resulted in a coma. His condition advanced to a vegetative state and after some time it was decided [by Gotham General Hospital] to move him to a care facility.   
**MR. DENT:** What happened to the dirigible?   
**THE WITNESS:** For a little while, on fire. Without a pilot, it crashed into a building in the Downtown Financial District.   
**MR. DENT:** Was anyone hurt?  
 **THE WITNESS:** I don't know.  
 **MR. DENT:** What did you do?   
**THE WITNESS:** Tried to extinguish the fire, naturally. Batman crashed through the control room window and kicked me in the chest.   
**MR. DENT:** Did the Batman say anything to you during this?  
 **THE WITNESS:** During--  
 **MR. DENT:** \--After it became evident that the dirigible was on fire.   
**THE WITNESS:** He said, "It's over, Scarecrow". 

Dent looked over the transcript, listening to the tape with one headphone and to the other two talking with his other ear. After several minutes of typing, he looked up.

"Harley." 

She focused her attention on him immediately, blinking innocently over her hot chocolate. "Hmm?" 

"You were a clinical psychiatrist." Harvey said, stopping the tape. 

Harley's nose wrinkled. "Yeah and what's it to ya? I ain't on trial here. My crimes are many, but--" 

"Dear." Eddie intervened, "I don't think he's criticizing you." 

"Oh!" Harley broke free of the melodrama at once, "Shoot then. You need a little peace, love and understanding?" 

If nothing else, Harley was enthusiastic about trying to help, it seemed. But Dent wasn't up for psychoanalysis, he'd already had plenty of that in Arkham, and he knew that was where she used to work before her own troubles began. Something about that place just twisted people. 

"Don't we all." Dent murmured, "No. I need a good prosthetist. Nothing invasive, no bone grafts. No time for that, no money for surgery. I just want something to take the edge off this," He gestured to his face, "In front of a jury. When I went away the first time - I saw how they looked at me. It was every bit about the monster they saw as the man who tried to kill Rupert Thorne when he pushed at someone who pushed back." 

Eddie looked astonished, glancing at Harley as if trying to discern if she was picking up on the same unusual tone - rogues did not typically overshare their weaknesses.

Harley was more calculating than anyone might have given her credit for, and far more intelligent than the misogynists in her life were equipped to recognize. The Joker could have made better use of her talents, if he hadn't been abjectly wanting in brains. 

"Sure, sure. You know, I might know a lady. Not sure if she'd help you, but you can give it a try. Word on the street - Leslie Thompkins is the one to go to when you need discreet medical-howsits. Want me to take you there?" 

Dent agreed, and when he was done transcribing, Harley reluctantly peeled the cat off her and made to go out. Eddie tossed her a trenchcoat.

"Here, it's inhumanely cold out there. I'll see you both when you get back." 

Leslie's building, the Thomas Wayne Memorial Clinic, was located in Park Row (the more famous Crime Alley), and it was depressing to Dent to see how far the place had fallen in a relatively short few decades. 

"I used to wanna make a difference." He told Harley, as they climbed the steps to enter the medical building. 

Her face twisted in confusion. "Used to?" Really if she'd wanted to, she could have quipped that he was _half the man he used to be_ , but she didn't punch down, didn't make fun of him. Even if she had, it wouldn't have really bothered him, at that point. 

Inside, there were a few people waiting to be seen, and Harley took a seat, picking up the Gotham Weekly magazine promptly. "Hey, look. Ten great brownie recipes... and lose fifteen pounds with Diets Guaranteed, all on the same cover." She winked exaggeratedly, but her face fell when she saw him looking down, and she lowered her voice. "What's up? I thought you'd be happy. Coming here, getting a better shot at springing Eddie. You're doin' it for her, right? It's making a difference to her." 

Dent favored her with a wan smile. "I suppose." 

"You goodie goodies don't think it makes a difference unless you save everybody." Harley tossed the magazine back down. "But it makes a difference to them. The couple people you do help. And if everybody was like that..." She eyed the ceiling. "Why do you think I got into _my_ field, Smiley? Only it turns out that job's not about helping people after all." 

Dent wondered, though he didn't say, how much of Gotham's villain population was owed to disappointed expectations. He was about to try to offer her some advice on breaking up with the Joker, not sure it would do much good but feeling obligated to point out the man was abusive and that she deserved someone who would be kind to her, but then Leslie called his name. 

"Will you still be here?" He asked as he got up." 

She grinned, "Sure, sure." 

On the way back to the exam room, Dent flipped for telling her. _Good heads, try to talk her out of that bear trap of a relationship. Bad heads... say nothing._

He felt tangible relief when good heads came up - a relief he didn't often feel at that result, as bad heads usually represented the easier and more selfish decision that he secretly wanted.

Leslie was a consummate professional, explaining the various pros and cons of a craniofacial anaplastology, with and without osseointegration. 

"That means bone grafts, right?" Dent shook his head, "I don't got time for anything like that. I just wanna soften the blow for the jury. You heard about the case." 

According to Leslie, everybody had. He watched her back, not sure what to think of her, as she searched in a drawer for a few medical measuring tools. 

"And you believe Eddie Nygma is innocent?" She asked, taking measurements of the maimed side of his face. It was unusual for anyone to touch him there, but Harv detected no threat from her and he was able to weather it with forbearance. 

"Can't discuss the case details; I'm sure you understand, being a doc. But Nygma's not the one I'm worried about. I keep feeling like Batman's everywhere... and I got a visit from him the other night." He held up his hand for her appraisal, feeling all the world like a lion with a thorn in his paw. 

_At one point, we were._ Harv offered. _King of the concrete jungle, taken down by a Thorne. And Grace **tried** to help us... but she couldn't heal us._

Leslie took the opportunity to clean his injury and re-bandage it. "It's mending well. No sign of inflammation or infection. Keep taking good care of yourself, Harvey."

There was so much kindness in her - and in Dr. Leland, and in Grace - that he might have wept, except that the maimed eye could no longer produce tears, and he'd never been good at crying even before the accident. He looked down, and his expression was so stricken that she sounded very concerned. 

"Harvey? I'm sorry, I know you're under a lot of stress, and you're trying to do right by Eddie. Legally, you're within your rights to defend yourself and her both, but it's a burden on you, with your illness." 

Harvey bit the inside of his lip and didn't respond; he didn't trust his voice - he didn't know if it would waver, or worse - be terribly strong. After a minute of silence while she wrote down his measurements, when the emotion had crested and he could think again, he said, "I owe you for the help. If you need money - I can pay you back." 

She waved off the offer. "Everything you need will be taken care of. We're generously funded by the Waynes; Thomas was a friend of mine, and I knew his son well." 

Dent knew a little about Bruce's past, though mostly only what everyone knew from the papers at the time. He'd been around the same age when Bruce's parents had been shot dead in a botched mugging, and he'd always thought, (when he had occasion to think about Bruce's less endearing qualities), that Bruce's hedonism and selfishness in breaking engagements was a result of losing his parents and gaining an enormous amount of money all in one night. He didn't even run his own company! Seemed to shun responsibilities and everything but shallow friendships, and Dent felt like whatever talent he had was sorely wasted in the face of a unilateral refusal to dedicate himself to _anything._

But he had stuck with Dent during his Trouble, and Harvey had to be grateful for that. It would have been too easy to make distance from the "psycho ex lawyer". 

"Now, I can make you a three-part prosthetic with an adhesive anchor, but I have to warn you. It won't be as stable as a bone-anchored piece, and there may be imperfections. If, in a week, you return here for the fitting and you aren't happy with the effect, there _definitely_ won't be time for bone fitting unless you get the trial date pushed back."

Dent thought about it. Pushing the trial back would often be good for the defense. Witness memories got shakier, it was easier to push them into making a mistake or admitting they weren't sure. The audacity of high profile cases faded to be replaced with other, new atrocities, making the public more receptive to the idea of lenience. 

On the other hand, the shadow of the Bat was already driving Dent to distraction, and he wasn't sure he could bear up another month or two of the Dark Knight's lurking presence. Even the prospect of open conflict with Batman, alarming as it was, would be better than this constant uncertainty.

He looked down at his coin. 

Leslie followed his gaze. She opened her mouth, possibly to ask if he couldn't practice, try to make a minor decision without the comfort of the tic, but that wasn't how he worked. 

He flipped, and caught it in the air. Scarred side up. 

"Go ahead with this. I'm not anticipating any delays." 

They were finishing up, with Leslie giving him a date to come back for the fitting and a small dose of over the counter painkillers for his hand, when a crash came from the waiting room. Leslie was an elderly lady, and Dent moved faster, heading to the front - but deep down he knew what he'd find. 

Harley throwing down with the Bat, disadvantaged in the small space and half the size, but the Bat was moving sluggish, as if he was already hurt - giving her a rare opportunity to hold her own. Dent fumbled for his piece, promising this time, this time he wouldn't miss - but the Bat looked over his shoulder at Leslie, and then retreated out the front door. Dent pursued, glancing both ways down the empty street. He looked up in time to catch the tail end of a cape disappearing from the edge of the rooftop. Fear and fury motivated his bellow, "That's right! You better run!"

He didn't know why exactly, but he didn't stop trembling until he was back in the hallway to Eddie's apartment.


	8. Chapter 8

Eddie's living room was in disarray, the coffee table upended and several pictures smashed and scattered across the floor. Bullock was already there, taking inventory and listening to the shaken up supervillain. Then he glanced over to Dent and Harley, tipping his hat. 

"Evening. Sorry we gotta keep meeting like this. For all the good it'll do I'm gonna go ahead and log this..." 

"What happened." Dent broke in, with the barely restrained anger that indicated Harv had taken just about all he could take before Dent's leash snapped. 

Eddie turned away, "There's a riddle even the Gotham PD can solve - if it only ever had the desire. These are our tax dollars at work, these are our law-makers, the people we're supposed to comply with, and they're in league with this - _terrorist_... with his symbol on their roof!"

Harley could read the brittle lines of Dent's back and shoulders, slipping in around him as soundless as a cat, and addressing Bullock.

"S'cuse me, copper. If you're all done here I think we could use a little quiet time. Look how upset Janus is." 

The cat didn't seem that bothered, but Bullock took Harley's meaning. "Right." The detective backed up and made a thin excuse for leaving, with a promise to be in touch if Batman broke in a third time. To Bullock's credit, there was no comment on Eddie's derisive irritation about tax dollars and union with the Batman. 

Once Bullock had gone, Dent sagged against the wall nearest the door, covering his face with one hand. Harley's lip wobbled, and she looked between Dent and Eddie as if to try to figure out who to console first.

"I wish you had a dog," She said to Dent, quietly, "Dogs always love pettin'. Specially when you feel sad. It's like they know. I've always been a dog person. And hyenas are like the best of both worlds." 

Her words fell flat into the silence, as Dent lowered his hand to take stock of the living room. Unsurprisingly, the taped transcript was gone. The paper version, complete, was in disarray all across the floor. Slowly, moving like a man made of glass, Dent started to collect up the papers. 

"I winged him. A few inches over and he'd be dead." Eddie said, "It's not even like me to use a gun, you know. But after the last break-in, I--"

"If it's illegal, lose it." Dent advised, emptily, "We're the only ones who have to play by the rules. Not him. Never him. _Rrgh, **fuck!**_ I hate him! I hate him I hate him! What the fuck! _It's a joke!_ Everything I do is a joke to him!" 

The typewriter went flying and bounced off the couch, Harv's incoherent frustration having no real outlet. He sank to the floor with his hands on his knees, trying to steady his breathing. _I want to do this right. I want to do it right. I want this to work._

"It's a fiction. The system. People believe in it the way they believe in God. And the world keeps turning, and there is no justice." 

Harley bobbed down next to him, touching his shoulder. For once, she was lost for words. Eddie took the opportunity to gather the rest of the papers, starting to set the room in order again. She plucked the batarang from the drywall and frowned at it. "Are you - tending your resignation, Dent?" She asked. 

Dent swallowed. He felt the coin in his pocket, felt the breath in his chest tight and constricting. He'd already flipped to take the case on, he didn't want to flip to give himself permission to quit. But it was more than that, he couldn't - wouldn't accept an outcome that made a mockery of everything in his life, even now. Thorne may have exposed Harvey as an Arkhamite, but it was Gotham that had destroyed him as a lawyer. Months of uphill fighting. 

These days he scrabbled around for broken pieces of himself to make weapons of. 

"No. I'm not quitting."

What he realized was that they would have to stick together. That was what they'd never had that other cities had - Luthor kept clean but it was no secret that he'd organized metahuman meet-ups; he had underground liaisons woven deep and thick through the criminal empires of the planet. And Central City was infamous for its capital-R Rogues. 

A week passed. Harley stuck around, so that nobody left Eddie completely alone, and Van Dorn didn't drop the case. Bullock came back one time for a follow-up, but was apologetic about there being nothing the Gotham PD could do. All three of them had various ideas for how to handle the Bat-problem. Harley pointed out that their resolutions for killing him had been broken more often than New Year's, and suggested an Arkham-break to facilitate the Batman's interest elsewhere. Dent was of the opinion that they could - and should - find some other superhero to put the pressure on Batman to back off, since the police were incapable of finding him, much less matching him, unless he chose to show up.

Eddie went to Summer Gleeson. 

Dent only found out about it by turning on the TV, and when he saw Eddie sitting there as bold as brass on _Gotham Insider_ , he groaned loud enough to startle Janus. The camera didn't pan across the audience, but he was sure Harley'd accompanied Eddie to the studio, and the thing was live. If the Bat didn't crash it, Dent was sure he'd _see_ it. 

"With us today is renowned super criminal 'the Riddler', who agreed to an interview with us during a highly contested court case. Eddie, everyone's dying to know about you and the former District Attorney Harvey Dent; you're fighting the charges, and claiming that Batman violated your constitutional rights." 

Eddie sat across from her, one leg slung across the other, fingertips drumming her cane. "That's right. It's pretty obvious to me in any case that an anonymous whackjob in a mask is someone the police should be tracking down to arrest. You know what the most notable thing about my first case was, after my encounter with Mockridge?"

Summer leaned on her desk, smiling faintly at Eddie, "What?"

"The prosecution had _one_ witness. The security guard at the power plant where I stopped over before meeting Batman in the Maze of the Minotaur. Meanwhile the Bat is swanning around blowing up buildings, escalating situations with the common jewel thieves he meets--oh, and breaking into my house." 

"Breaking into your house before the trial?" Summer prompted with a mock gasp, hiding the growing smile behind her hands a moment. This made for excellent copy. 

"Twice. To threaten me, to steal evidence - and don't think it doesn't happen routinely to other 'super criminals' who've already paid their dues as well. You pay for police whose faces you recognize, whose badge numbers you can report. In turn, they look to a masked man who brutalizes suspects, aggravates conflicts to the point that people get seriously hurt, stalks reformed criminals, and swings away into the night when he's had his kicks. Ordinarily I wouldn't levy the charge that he's only in it for the fun and games, but the more I think on it, the more I suspect that's true. If the law in Gotham is corrupt, and we all know it is, you _do_ need vigilantes for justice. So why is it that CEOs like Mockridge and bent mob bosses like Thorne running illegal bookie dens lead charmed lives?" 

Summer considered, "I think - your current lawyer tried to have Thorne arrested."

" _Multiple times._ " Eddie agreed, "Batman, I know you're listening. I'm sorry that white collar crime is _boring_ to you, but it's the kind from whence most others reactively spring. Wy weren't you breaking into Thorne's gambling rings; why did you let one of the worst men in our fair town roam completely unchecked?" 

Eddie stood up, leaning on her cane, "This message is for you, and I think even you can decode it. I won't be intimidated. I won't be tried by a jury of _you_. And if you keep this up, I'm going to be your worst nightmare. I'll figure out who you are - I've never bothered to try, would you believe it? But it can't be that difficult for someone of my intellect. When I do, I'll tell the whole city so you'll finally be answerable for the lives you've ruined." 

Summer let that sink into silence before turning to the mic, "Strong words from Gotham City's own Riddler, speaking plainly with a desire to expose the Batman's true identity. When we come back, we'll be speaking to a former member of the Daggett Development Corporation, a Daggett Industries subsidiary responsible for the creation of the super criminal known as Clayf--"

Dent turned the television off and massaged his temples. Even with the shock, he couldn't be angry at Eddie. She was afraid, she had no real way to react to the vigilante save to threaten him with the dismantling of the anonymity that permitted his behavior. 

The phone rang, and he picked it up. "I hope you're happy. That little stunt probably just bought us a sequestered jury." He said, grumpily, but the voice on the other end was not Eddie's. 

"I'm sorry?" 

"Oh-... I thought you were--hello?" Dent recovered clumsily. 

There was a tinge of amusement in the reply, "I assume this is Mr. Harvey Dent, the man representing the Riddler. I'm calling to pass along a message to her; if she does crack the riddle of the Batman's identity, I'll pay for the privilege of knowing first. Price is no object." 

Dent tried to place the voice, finding it familiar, but not readily identifiable. "Who is this?" 

"Consider me a friend - someone who's done time in Stryker's Island. Give her my proposal, won't you? I'll be in touch if anything comes of her investigation." 

The caller hung up, leaving Dent staring at the receiver in bemused silence. He set the phone back in its cradle, looking off into the distance intently. He flipped the coin several times, taking comfort in the act of feeling it between his fingers and hearing the sharp ping of the metal, and the cascading, almost hypnotic whirl of it in freefall. Control was slipping away from him: the more people got involved in this case, the more ludicrous it became. Lawlessness, capes, metahumans, and money all touched the supposedly inviolate law and turned it rusted and treacherous.

Desperation had motivated him to seek out any of the so-called Justice League to beg off Batman's interference, but they were more difficult to track down than he'd hoped. Half their identities were secret, the Green Lantern was offworld, and Themyscira apparently did not have phone lines. Asking a cape to intervene would have been the carrot, but Eddie had already gone ahead with the stick, and there was nothing to do now but deal with the fallout. 

Whoever the caller was, however, sounded assured that Eddie could and _would_ figure out who the Bat was. But Stryker's? 

"East coast, mostly metahuman population, but not local." He said to Janus, who was batting at the television cord suspiciously. "Who in Stryker's hates the Batman?" 

Then again, what criminal would find the identity of the Batman useful to have? To auction off? No, no... _price was no object._ They already had money. That brought him back to revenge, but almost everyone with cause to want revenge was in Arkham. 

"I'll see if they call back." He decided, getting up and heading to refill Janus' food bowl, "Maybe it was just a crank." 

The following weeks kept Dent busy enough, but whenever he had a spare moment, he kept returning to review the call in his mind again and again. Newspaper investigation revealed no one had broken out of Stryker's for the last four months, and prior to that, the only people who had would be more interested in revenging themselves on Superman. 

The court date crept ever closer, and Batman's nocturnal visitations stopped after Eddie's threat. Dent was quick to submit that it may well have been a coincidence. He could have been recuperating from his injuries, or taken afield by a different project. That was the frustrating thing - one just never knew where specifically he'd be, or why. 

Eddie also seemed surprised Dent didn't chew her out for her appearance on national TV, but the lawyer pointed out that it was her decision. 

"You did say someone called about paying me to unmask the Bat." Eddie said one day, freshly reminded, "It's a shame they don't know me very well, I'm not all that interested in money." 

_That_ , Dent thought privately, _is how you got into this mess. Blithely signing legal contracts, living in a world separate from the rest of us, and then surprised when predatory corporate sharks took a bite of you._ Not that he blamed her for it, but it was so typically Eddie that he had to agree the money offer was strange. Either the caller was very used to buying up whatever they wanted, or they didn't know the Riddler's personality at all, beyond what they'd followed of her case so far. 

"At least it rules out the Batman." Eddie said, idly. "I wouldn't like to think he'd be so duplicitous as to bribe me to attack him, but you never know." 

That thought hadn't even occurred to Dent. He buried himself in the case file again, and tried to limit his glances at the phone.


	9. Chapter 9

Four days before Eddie's case was set to go to trial, the phone rang, and this time she was there to pick it up. 

"Hello, Eddie?" 

"Speaking." Eddie twirled the phone cord in one finger. "And what's your name, stranger?" 

"I thought you liked solving mysteries. Let's leave my name for now. I have a riddle for you." 

Eddie frowned, leaning against the wall and tangling her fingers cat's-cradle in the wire. "If it's Batman's identity, he hasn't come back, so the ball is in his court." 

"Oh no, no. I know if you make your mind up to pursue that, you'll accept my offer. This is something else." 

Eddie didn't see the harm, "Shoot." 

"Are you comfortable? It's a little long." The voice almost sounded apologetic. 

Eddie pushed off from the wall and took the phone over to a chair in the living room, stepping over the line. "You know what they say about long stories, friend. The ending had better be worth it." 

"Mmm, I hope it will be." A throat clearing from the other end of the line, "All right. Once upon a time there was a rich farmer who owned a henhouse out in the country. Now there were a fair share of foxes looking to eat, thanks to the farmer taking over the whole place and scaring off their regular prey. But most of the time these foxes would attack a hen and set the whole group to squawking, which would bring the farmer, who eventually set up an electric fence. One vixen, she walked all around the fence and tested it for weeks until she found a short, but she didn't snatch a hen. She waited and crept into the henhouse quiet as you please, and took an egg. Once every few days. The farmer noticed eventually that his hens were producing less, and as we all know - rich people are far less inclined to share than the poor. So he set traps. And one day the vixen lost part of her tail to the traps, but she was determined to outsmart the farmer, with his far greater resources and control over the farm. So she came back, again and again. Eventually she lost a leg, too, but by now it was so personal, trying to take scraps from him while he took limbs from her..." 

The voice went quiet. Eddie was waiting, listening for the question, for the wordplay, for the pieces to make a solution. 

"Now," Said the voice, in a reasonable sort of way, "What do you think is in the fox's best interest? Truthfully, Eddie... this is a riddle only the vixen can solve." 

Eddie drew away from the phone to stare at it as if it had bitten her ear. Then she brought it back, "I take your meaning. But forgive me, at first it sounded like you were dead set on me exposing the 'farmer' and his identity." 

"I try to set myself up for win/wins when I can. I don't like coming out of anything empty handed. But believe me, Nygma, being in Gotham and throwing down with that fool is a consummate waste of your talents." 

Eddie didn't have a ready reply. 

"Well," Said the voice, "Good luck with your case. I may call again to check up..." 

"Wait-... wait." Eddie said, "What exactly is in it for you if I leave Gotham? Why do you care about my case?" 

The caller was quiet, but didn't hang up. After a few more moments, they said, "I know a little about obsessive hatred. I know how it feels to drink poison and expect your enemy to die. I've stayed up nights, tossing and turning, cursing him, loathing him, while he slept soundly. Maybe, Eddie... maybe I want to be the friend to you that I never had. To turn you away from this self destructive course before it's too late for you." 

Eddie's lips moved soundlessly, and then she asked, "Is it... too late for you?" 

"I'm still alive. Barely. But consider me your early warning system. This kind of hate will destroy _you._ Not him."

Eddie listened to the dial tone for several seconds before setting the phone down. Harley joined her on the couch not long after, pulling a blanket up around them both and engaging her in a movie marathon. She couldn't really focus on any of the films, and after a little while excused herself to the privacy of her bedroom. 

She thought about Dent, and about the Scarecrow, and about Harley, and about - whoever that was, on the phone, so quick to offer friendship and deadly advice. She played with the batarang idly, cross-legged on the bed in question mark jammies, turning it this way and that, and then stopped as something caught the light. She scooted down off the bed and into the bathroom, lightly dusting the batarang with a makeup brush and holding it up to the light critically. 

Eddie still had gloves on. The half-a-fingerprint on the batarang couldn't be Batman's, and nobody else had touched it. Carefully, she set it down on the bathroom counter, then went to get a bag to put it in. 

Before the _voir dire_ \- the jury selection process - Dent made a stop by a payphone to call ahead and let her know he was coming. The Batman might take the warning not to show - or he might show _because_ of the warning, but Dent had an appointment to keep. 

Leslie met him outside and tried to help him feel at ease, probably regretting the near-violence that had erupted last time. Once inside, he asked to use her phone, to let Eddie know he'd made it and check on her. Harley was still with her, apparently. She sounded unusually excited, but he had no time to figure out why. In the clinic, he sat patiently as Leslie applied the prosthetic pieces with adhesive. They fit together almost seamlessly, covering the most severe of the scarring. The skin color - a rich brown, like his own - was a convincing match in the clinic light, and Dent spent a full minute looking it over with a hand mirror. 

"Are you going to dye your hair? You'll want to do that before you apply the prosthetic yourself the next time, the adhesive can't get wet." Leslie was helpful, giving him a typed list of Do's and Don't's. 

"I doubt it." Dent ran his fingers through the shock of white hair, starkly contrasting, "They're Gotham jurors. They know what I look like under this. I'm gonna try to make light of it... build some rapport." 

Leslie remained gentle. "And how are you feeling about the case? Not the details, I know you can't talk about that." 

"Confident." Dent said, licking his teeth, "A bad district judge could still shut me down, but I'm strong in this arena and everybody knows the Bat's got bad press at best. We have rights. We might be freaks - we might be criminals - we might be _monsters._ But we're Americans." 

She didn't seem much put at ease, returning to a description of prosthetic care and the expectation for how long the pieces could be expected to last. He thanked her, and left. 

In only a few hours he was downtown and conducting _voir dire_ , and having a devil of a time working against Van Dorn to find jurors who would view the case with more sympathy toward Eddie. This game was every bit as tactical as the rest of the case, rejecting those who were pro-Batman - and feeling the rest out. Meanwhile Van Dorn was throwing out the ones who tuned in to Summer Gleeson's program, but hadn't requested a sequestration. Maybe she knew she'd lose the case either way, but Dent had to admire her determination. Once she got her teeth into something she wasn't letting go, and she was determined to take a chunk out of Dent either way.

 _We could've been friends._ Harv wasn't often maudlin, but on this occasion, he was quick to remind the lawyer of everything that had been lost to him. 

After the jury selection process, Dent left the courthouse with a throbbing headache, taking one of the pills Leslie had given him for his hand. As soon as he could, he ducked into a gas station bathroom to peel the prosthesis off bit by bit. The mirror told him the same story it always did, but this time he could be proud of himself. He'd thrown yet another obstacle in Van Dorn's path, rallying in the face of injustice, and against the Bat - he'd made his appointment with Leslie and the jury hadn't been horrified by him. 

_Just like old times._ More of Harv from the peanut gallery, continually nostalgic. Dent guessed because the anger had nowhere to go, trying to channel it into energy for a trial still several days out - all the witnesses were arranged and there were no eleven hour surprises planned. All the jury now selected, all the evidence that couldn't be tossed out remained, depositions organized and everything over but the waiting. 

When he got home, he sat for a long time in the living room, letting his thoughts wander. The phone rang, but it was a wrong number. He realized afterward that he was _waiting_ for something, if not the mysterious caller or Batman then something else he could neither define nor justify. 

Sleep found him reluctant, but it did find him eventually. His dreams were restless and fragmentary, at one point Wonder Woman was the prosecutor and kept threatening to use her 'lasso of truth', and Dent found himself engaged in a philosophical argument with her about what truth actually was. 

After several minutes of arguing, the logical part of Dent's brain put forth that no judge would let a defense attorney argue with a prosecutor for this long without restoring order, the jury box was all masked Justice League members, and the judge... 

Of course the judge was Batman. 

Dent woke in a cold sweat and found it difficult to get back to sleep, so he made himself a coffee and organized the briefs for Scarecrow's case. Better not to confuse himself by actually starting on it, yet.


	10. Chapter 10

As prepared as Dent was, his first few minutes in the courtroom were a nerve-wracking stage-fright that he hadn't anticipated at all when he sat down. Eddie had a piece of paper, idly doodling a puzzle design, and wrote in the margins, _What's wrong?_

Dent wrote back, _don't recognize judge._

The district judge was a much older man, with a no-nonsense bearing, who was introduced as the Honorable Górski. Gotham had seen its fair share of Polish immigrants, so that part wasn't unusual. It was possible Dent just didn't know every circuit judge, but most of them lived close to where they worked, and he'd considered himself incapable of being surprised. 

Van Dorn gave her opening statement. _Blah blah. Honored to represent the people of Gotham. Masked lunatic fringe, war on the city over power plays..._ And there was the name he hoped she'd drop. _Batman._

Because even if he wasn't in the courtroom with them in person, Batman was in the courtroom with them in spirit. Inescapably, Dent's entire defense rested on him. Van Dorn wound down, and gave him the few minutes he needed to collect himself. He'd never learned to channel his anger into any self-protection, only protection of others, so he calmed down by looking across to Eddie and reminding himself who he was doing this for. 

When Van Dorn sat, Dent stood up. 

"A wise woman once told me, 'a lie is only as powerful as its telling'. You have to continually feed a lie, because the truth is as natural and real as water flowing downhill, but the spell of the lie can be broken if not continually maintained. One day a man, dressed like a bat, told the people of Gotham that he would protect them, and make their lives better. That was the lie. The truth is that the Batman needs people like Eddie Nygma to be his supervillains infinitely more than the people of Gotham need the Batman to be their superhero."

He looked over the jury, flipped and used the time to measure his pauses, "You know who I am. You know what I tried to do for most of my life, with my face showing. I tried to take on Gotham's underbelly. I knew the risks. And I still paid more dearly than I could ever have anticipated. Because of _him._ Today I'm going to show this court exactly why Edward Nygma's accusations are founded on the basis of a lie told over and over by an obsessive vigilante." 

The prosecution got to call the first witness, Gordon again. Dent waited, giving Eddie the impression of a tiger in the reeds, watching and listening. 

Van Dorn covered his name, how long he'd been the Commissioner, whether or not he thought he could positively identify Eddie at the scene (he thought he could), and whether or not he'd encountered Eddie before. Her questions on that score became very careful, and Dent knew she could feel his eyes on her back, waiting for her to slip and be called that prior convictions weren't at issue. She didn't get close enough for him to focus himself on any one point, and he was still unsure about the judge. So he was full of energy by the time Van Dorn stepped aside and said, "Your witness." 

"James. Can I call you James?" Dent asked. 

"Sure." Gordon was in full fake kindly old man mode for the jury. 

"You claim Batman was in the area as well. Was there any attempt to detain him?" 

Gordon knew there was a trap, and he could guess what it looked like, but he couldn't be sure. "No." 

Dent licked his lips. "Is there a policy I'm not aware of that the GCPD won't try to detain Batman?" 

"No. He's very quick." 

"How quickly does he answer the bat-signal?" Dent returned, levelly. 

Gordon looked over Dent's shoulder, and Van Dorn said, "Objection." 

_Van Dorn hated Batman._ Dent knew that, and he knew why. He'd been the District Attorney, he understood her frustrations. But he was skirting close to testing Górski the hard way.

"Nevermind," Dent backed up a step, mentally and physically. "I withdraw that question. I'd just like to clarify a few facts. You testified under oath that Batman arrived on the scene and made a citizen's arrest?" 

"I'd expect a lawyer to be familiar with _posse comitatus._ " Gordon said.

Dent's eyes flicked to the judge, then back to the Commissioner. "This isn't the Wild West, Sheriff." 

The calculated response worked - the jury laughed. A bang of the gavel brought them back to quiet, but the damage had been done, and Gordon had only himself to blame. _Posse comitatus_ , honestly. Amateur hour was over.

"Please answer my question. Did Batman, as you said, arrive to arrest my client in full view of you." 

"Yes." 

"And you made no attempt, regardless of the potential futile nature, which should not deter you in your duties, to arrest Batman as well?" 

"No." Gordon was glowering at him, and Dent didn't give the slightest fuck. Regardless, it was dangerous to keep Gordon on the stand too long, he was likable - not to Dent or, in his opinion, anyone with taste, but in Gotham.

"Thank you, no further questions." 

The prosecution had already been dealt a staggering pre-trial blow, losing so much of their evidence to Bat-taint. But the jury didn't even realize that - and a half decent lawyer could knock out a not guilty by way of insanity, which was what Van Dorn wanted him to accept. But having been in Arkham, and having understood completely how difficult it was to survive there, let alone to heal... 

Trapped in a glass box, waiting for the grace of the doctors to release you, and knowing the Bat's shadow could fall over you at any time. Dent was playing for high stakes. He refused to permit Eddie to suffer that fate again, either.

Montoya was up next. She pointed at Eddie to indicate the person she'd arrested, confirmed that she too had seen the Batman, and then was released for cross. Dent asked her the same questions, more or less - if she knew of any reason not to try to arrest Batman. And he realized when he saw the flash of fire in her eyes that she was angrier than Gordon. 

"He's a hero." 

Dent breathed, controlled, feeling the advantage shift his way, and had only seconds to figure out how to capitalize on it. "Is Batman a deputized officer?"

"That's not the point." 

"Objection," From Van Dorn, but curiously the judge didn't respond, and Dent took the slack of his leash and went for Montoya's throat. 

"Are you enforcing the law or not?" 

She scowled. "I am." 

"Selectively?" 

"Objection!" More force from Van Dorn. 

Górski said, "Sustained." 

"Apologies to the court. I'm just trying to figure out the _precise_ nature of Batman's involvement with the Gotham police, since Batman couldn't be with us today to testify." More laughing from the jury. Dent held up his hands in surrender at the judge. "No further questions." 

Montoya slunk down away from the box, and Dent returned to his seat, biting his lip. Eddie was writing on the legal pad between them, listening and waiting. 

The next few witnesses passed uneventfully - locality owners, eyewitnesses to tie Eddie to the scene. Dent cross examined them only insofar as he thought it was prudent to introduce doubt that they were remembering correctly, but his touch was soft. He wasn't actually trying to railroad anyone into admitting they hadn't seen the bright, question-mark covered super criminal at the scene. His beef, pretty blatantly, was with trying to pretend anything about a Bat arrest was legal or admissible. Even Van Dorn would have to cave to that. 

His eye passed across the jury and he took his seat again. _Soon..._ he wrote on the brief. 

There was a short recess, and Dent prowled outside to get water, but the public fountain was choked with gum and he thought it better to get a coffee from the lobby. When the court reconvened, Detective Harry Bullock took the stand. He was Dent's witness, as promised, and Dent got first crack at him. 

"You know my client already, and not solely as someone in trouble with the law, don't you, Detective?" Dent opened. He expected to get Van Dorn's feathers rustled over leading, but she didn't object.

"Yeah, I know Eddie. Came out twice to the apartment for Bat break-ins." 

"Objection, speculative." Van Dorn offered.

Dent looked to the judge, then back at Harry, who said, "Yeah, I know plenty of people who leave frigging batarangs at the scene of a tenth story building break-in, guess I am making a leap there. Also got eyewitnesses."

Górski said, "Any more outbursts and the witness will be in contempt." 

"Sorry, yer honor." Bullock sat back more tranquil, promising with words and body language to behave. 

Dent recovered, "Have you ever known Eddie to be a difficult prisoner in transport?"

"Nope." 

"No problems at all?" 

"Good as gold." Bullock glanced at the jury, then back at Dent. The Detective looked like there was more to say, but obediently waited for the questions. 

Dent looked toward Eddie a second, letting the line of questioning flow more naturally, off the script. "Do you know Eddie outside of your work?" 

"Yeah, we talked a lot. We had a discussion one time about gender identity. I actually started thinkin' it'd be okay if some close friends started using 'she' for me, after she explained some things." 

"So you'd say you were _very_ close with her." Dent confirmed. "What happened when she reformed?" 

"Objection," Van Dorn said, "Irrelevant." 

Dent knew he'd have to actually defend this one, hesitating, "Your honor, I'm attempting to show the court that Bullock's relationship with Eddie is a well- informed and positive one. Most former criminals don't have a good relationship with any member of the police, especially in this town." 

Górski frowned down at him. "I'll allow it if the defense will get to the point swiftly." 

"Thank you. Harry - do you remember what got Eddie sent to Arkham Asylum the previous time." 

Harry didn't need much thinking for that. "Yeah. Batman wouldn't leave her alone until she snapped on him and tried to kill him." 

"Do you think there was another way for her to handle her grievance with the Batman?" Dent asked, reasonably. "Like... Telling the police she was being harassed?" 

Bullock laughed, a quick and cynical bark. "You seen the nightlight on our rooftop lately? No way Gordon or any of the others would ever listen to complaints about that vigilante. He practically works in the office."

"Objection!" Van Dorn stood up. "Your honor, this is ridiculous." 

_It sure is, lady._ Dent grinned to himself. "The pertinence of my line of questioning also includes the possibility that Batman is framing my client and works with the same office that is accusing her." 

Górski waved his hand. "Overruled. Mr. Dent, you may continue." 

"Has the Batman been known to tamper with evidence in the police station before?" Dent alighted on a possibility. 

Bullock met his eyes unflinching, "As God is my witness, Batman has both stolen evidence from crime scenes _and_ broken into HQ to take police property." 

"How do you know?" 

"I saw it." Bullock was matter of fact. "And when the Bat was investigating me all on his own steam, my police file 'mysteriously' disappeared." 

"Objection," Van Dorn put in again, but the damage had been done, and despite Górski ruling her way, Dent knew from the faces of the jury that having an actual cop attest to Batman's breaking and entering in the Gotham police department was a blow too severe to recover from. He didn't actually have to pour on anything further, and he let Van Dorn cross examine Bullock without fear. His case was strong; he let it do the talking, and appreciated that Bullock wasn't fool enough to give Van Dorn any personal trouble and lose the jury's approval. 

He looked over at Eddie, who'd drawn an elaborate smiley face across the legal pad, and grinned.


	11. Chapter 11

"State your name for the record." 

"Dr. Jonathan Crane. J-O-N-A-T-H-A-N space C-R-A-N-E." 

They'd actually shown up, which had surprised and gratified Dent, and sat in the witness box a small and unintimidating figure without mask or outfit. 

"What is your relationship with the defendant?" Dent asked. 

Jon looked over at Eddie, who sat tranquil with her hands folded in front of her. 

"Cellmates at Arkham."

"You never knew her before your criminal career?" 

"No." Jonathan peered at Dent. "The _Arkham Alumnae_ met inside the hospital." 

Dent knew what that meant, personally, but for the benefit of the court he asked, "Can you explain that term for the jury?" 

"That is how the intellectuals with an extensive secondary education who fought Batman referred to ourselves. There was myself, Eddie Nygma, Jervis Tetch, Harleen Quinzel... and you, Mr. Dent." 

Dent smiled. "Was there anything else that distinguished the Arkham Alumnae from ordinary Arkham inmates? Pamela Isley has those credentials." He continued to ask questions he knew the answers to, the better to paint a picture for the jury of the kind of place Arkham was. 

"We all had a history of less-than-lethal behavior toward our peerage, the orderlies, and so on. As you may know, Mr. Dent, Pamela tried to murder you over a weed." 

So Jon wasn't a hostile witness, by any stretch, but they also was not the kind of person who'd gentle a truth. Fair enough. Dent could handle it. 

"But the inmates who qualified could still have committed violent crime on the outside." 

"Oh yes." Jonathan was mild, "I think so. But we all got along quite well together." 

Dent waited a moment, "What did you talk about?" 

"Getting revenge on Batman, mostly. It wasn't anything I was personally interested in, you understand. But the Bat won't actually leave you alone once you've gotten his attention. He stalks you." 

"Did he stalk you, Dr. Crane?" Dent asked. 

"Of course. The small university upstate that I broke out to redo my life at, well. He found me there. He could find me anywhere if he had a mind. As soon as I leave this courtroom, he could break into Arkham and 'interrogate' me." 

"Interrogate?" 

"Torture, you know. _Terrorize._ Funny that interrogate has 'terro' in it, but it is derived from Latin's _rogare_ , 'ask'."

"Objection." Van Dorn said, "Is there any point to these questions at all?" 

Dent turned to face Van Dorn, with both sides of his face, the prosthetic holding up fairly well even after the long trial session. "These questions relate directly to the activity of the man who is trying to put my client in jail, with evidence he supplied and a confession he terrorized from her, and his unethical and unlawful connections with the police. This witness proves it is a systemic pattern of behavior." 

The judge ruled in favor of Van Dorn, and Dent rallied down a different path, emphasizing Jonathan and Eddie's positive relationship together, how the two were quiet, fairly productive members of society until their costuming days. Jonathan put forth the notion, unheard until that point, that they had been involved in ameliorating the conditions of phobias prior to the university's dismissal, and that S.T.A.R. Labs now held the patent for their 'fear gas'. 

"I call it a psychotropic inhalant," Jonathan waved a hand, "Anyway, Batman's ensured that I take it in unsafe doses multiple times." 

"Even without the influence of the gas," Dent asked, "Would you surrender to a man in a mask, with no identity, no badge, and no accountability, who threatened or enacted torture on other criminals?"

"Under no circumstances." Said the Scarecrow. 

"Thank you. No further questions, your witness." Dent passed by Van Dorn, sitting down by Eddie. Best to leave the jury aware of exactly what kind of madman they were dealing with, that their taxpayer dollars were going toward funding.

Van Dorn stepped up, and Jonathan smiled at her like they recognized an old friend from across the room. 

"Good afternoon, Mrs Van Dorn." Jon said, happily. 

"Jonathan Crane. Your alter ego is the Scarecrow." 

Jon's smile thinned. "That's correct." 

"How many times have you been committed to Arkham Asylum?" Van Dorn asked. Jonathan's eyes wandered to the jury as they considered. 

"Thrice." 

Van Dorn kept her hands behind her back, folded loosely. She reminded Jonathan of a schoolteacher, but they was far from intimidated by that. They'd run quite a terrifying college course of their own back in the day. 

"Were any of your exits from the facility legally sanctioned?" 

Jonathan pretended not to understand the question. "I'm sorry? How do you mean?" 

"I mean, were you ever formally declared sane. By a doctor, at Arkham. Any of those times." 

The Scarecrow gave every indication of being unperturbed, and gnawed their thumbnail. "No." 

"I see. In that case, your memory of these events, in Arkham and otherwise, might be shaky. Don't you think?" 

"Not at all, my memory is better than yours." Jonathan shot back at once, hackles beginning to raise. 

"In your signed deposition, you said you don't remember dates--" Van Dorn began. 

The Scarecrow's thin fingers clutched each other in rising irritation. "That--" 

Dent made a face, regretting not intervening more quickly. He raised one hand briefly to catch the judge's attention. "Objection. This is irrelevant. If the prosecution has any reason to disqualify the credibility of my witness, she should have done it _before_ the trial." 

"Sustained, Mr. Dent. Prosecution is advised that there is no reason to go further. Dr. Crane's testimony was already found admissible. The jury is instructed to disregard the witness's last two answers." 

Dent wasn't smug about that situation, wary at the near slip. If Eddie's freedom hadn't been riding on the outcome, he might have made room for more sympathy. Still, Van Dorn was fighting a losing battle and every attempt she made to cast Eddie's witnesses in a negative light was only making it worse. It wasn't like she could dredge up Jon's criminal career without Dent checking her again for relevance, and Jonathan hadn't blown up at her completely, thank God. 

At the next recess, she exited for water and a bathroom break, and he didn't sense any unease as she passed, but she had to know that her case was in a shambles now. 

Eddie, conversely, started to gain confidence as the trial wore on. She leaned back in her chair, almost enjoying the back and forth between the witnesses and Dent, and even the witnesses and Van Dorn. After Van Dorn rested her case, Dent had a few minutes privately to confer with Eddie about whether or not she wanted to take the stand. 

"Last chance to back out." Dent warned her, watching the Riddler's confident smile fix masklike in place. 

He knew grimly how she must have felt at that moment. The desire to explain herself was strong, almost overwhelming to someone with her kind of ego and intellect, but the actual event was equally terrifying. Van Dorn's case was wounded - not destroyed. Eddie could still go to Arkham.

Dent knew Eddie had seen his nervous tic of flipping without decision-making, so he only thumbed the edge of his coin and did nothing revealing. She'd be looking to him for support, and he let the slightest smile show at the corner of his mouth. The prosthetic was a little uncomfortable, but it was seeing him through. 

"And you still think--" Eddie started. 

"If I were you, I really wouldn't do it." Harvey knew where she was going with that, but had no idea if she'd actually listen. "I know you're dying to rip the Batman a new one up there, but the DA's case is in tatters already. I know the law isn't fair the way you want it to be, and there's no other way to tell the jury your side of the story without going up there, but if you do..."

Dent trailed away, raising his eyebrow at Eddie in invitation, to see if they were on the same page after all.

"If I do defend myself," Eddie said quietly, "You're saying it's the best shot Van Dorn has at locking me up again. If she can make me look like I'm crazy. I'm **not** crazy, Harvey." 

She didn't often use his first name, and Dent knew from experience that this was a sore spot for her. "I know you're not. I've been thinking since the beginning how this might break for us, but it's impossible to predict what a DA will ask. If I prove you always tell the truth - even veiled in riddles - she might use that as evidence you have other compulsions, like stealing, or antisocial behavior in general. Your history - it'll look bad. Including any emotional reaction you have. But if we just wait it out for closing statements, I can almost guarantee you, 90-10, you'll walk away." 

That was it. Not a promise, because Dent couldn't promise, but close. So close. Eddie bit her lip. 

"I trust you almost too much." The Riddler complained after a long pause, "Alright. I won't do it." 

When the court resumed session, Dent approached Górski and shared a few quiet words.

After, the judge addressed the jury, “Every defendant in a criminal case has an absolute right not to testify. The defendant in this case has chosen to exercise this right. You must not hold this decision against her, and it would be improper for you to speculate as to the reasons for her decision. You must not assume the defendant is guilty because she chose not to testify.”

Eddie relaxed imperceptibly next to her lawyer. Dent however, kept tense, his eyes fixed on Van Dorn.

Instead of a resignation, Van Dorn gave her closing statements as expected. Dent might have guessed it, she was stubborn and if there was the slightest hope of winning the case, she'd find it. She brought up what little evidence they'd left her, and even though Dent couldn't read minds, he suspected she'd hung her last hope on Górski influencing the jury at the last. So far, it was hard to see who the judge would have favored, between them. They were equally guilty of trying to bend, break, or sway the awareness of the facts in the jury's mind. 

That was kind of how it worked, when all the legalese was said and done. Who they believed. And that was partly why Dent was relieved that the pre-trial preparations had gone so smoothly, that they'd gotten so much evidence thrown out.

Even if it didn't all go to plan in the end, he supposed Eddie could break out of Arkham in short order if she really had to. And he found himself ... happy to know her. It wasn't professional or safe to date a client, it inevitably muddied the waters and made for bad defense, but after, he was strongly considering the possibility. 

Likewise after spending some time around Eddie, he was considering the possibility that **he** could be transgender. It wasn't the sort of thing his generation had much open experience with, and being diagnosed as mentally ill long before he picked up the supervillain bracket hadn't helped him define his sense of self very well. So much of what he thought he knew about himself was defined by what he **didn't** know, and that made for troublesome definitions. 

Then it was Dent's turn for a closing statement, and he stood to face the jury.


	12. Chapter 12

_But you're not really facing them, are you._ Harv asked, in a surprisingly gentle voice. _This whole time, it's been more personal for us than our own trial. Defending someone else, standing for what we believe in. That's what you **always** wanted, you sucker._

"That woman who I quoted at the beginning of all this was my grandmother, and she always said she hated a liar more than a thief, because a thief was just out to steal from you, and a liar was out to twist your reality. All throughout this trial, I've tried to tell the truth, and I know my client tells the truth as best as any of us can. But the man who thinks he's accountable to no one but himself, Batman, who's only interested in the 'fun' part of the legal system, and not the 'justice' part... He puts himself above us all. He stands on high and tells us that he knows best, that he's decided who's guilty and why, a judge and jury of one man. Batman claims that we - the lawyers, and you - the jury, are irrelevant. He thinks we know nothing about justice, and I hope you'll prove him wrong when he reads about this case in the papers." 

Dent concluded his statement, and retook his seat. The jury had listened patiently to Van Dorn and him both, taking notes, and he could do nothing more to sway them.

Górski advised the jury of the importance of an impartial verdict, and stressed that if there were questions they were welcome to contact him via the jury keepers.

The jury retired to deliberate, and Dent settled down to wait, exiting the courthouse with Eddie to a cafe a few streets down. He glanced out the window, noting the slate gray skies tossing down halfhearted rain, found himself rooftop-spying for Batman, but he could see nothing that looked suspicious or out of place. 

"So? What do you think?" Eddie broke into his thoughts.

"It's strong, stronger than my case. We got plenty of lucky breaks." Dent peeled off his prosthetic at last, putting it away, and massaged the edges of his face. "Could be a few days, though. We're supposed to stay close to the courthouse so they can assemble everyone once they've reached a verdict." 

"How long do you figure. Best and worst case." 

Dent ordered a coffee for them both. "Best, we'll know in a few hours. Worst, ten days. But best and worst - that mostly involves what they say, not how long they take to say it. It's always a gamble. I need to talk to you about something."

Eddie got that _oh-no-am-I-in-trouble_ expression, but made an inviting noise. 

"No matter the verdict, you need to stop engaging Batman. I know how hard it is. Especially trying to function in Gotham without him getting into your business. Maybe consider leaving." 

She looked astonished, like the possibility of leaving Gotham never occurred to her. "Leaving." She repeated.

Dent nodded. "We could... go together. There's nothing for me here, and I - like what I know of you." 

Eddie took a long drink rather than answering. "That's sweet." She said finally. "Why don't you take me to dinner before you try to take me out of Gotham, hm?" 

"Sure." Dent had a very youthful smile, when he was apt to give a genuine one. "If you don't mind the jury maybe interrupting us, I don't normally," But with Eddie, he didn't feel quite as uncomfortable these days. She gave him confidence, even if he was building up to asking about the gender thing. "You make me feel a little better." 

"Oh." Eddie wasn't sure what to do with that comment. "Uh. Well. Glad to hear it. Shall we?"

Dent took Eddie to the Rose Cafe, and also told her that the last time he'd been there, his date had poisoned him. Eddie solemnly promised to live up to a higher standard, and both laughed. Dent was surprised by how relaxed he was around Eddie, how comfortable. The Harv thought process just didn't flag Eddie as a threat to him at all, so he could be himself without fear.

"What are you thinking about?" Eddie asked, in the middle of a comfortable silence, the hush of forks and knives and muted discussions around. Dent was looking out the window and not really seeing the firefly twinkling of Gotham's skyscrapers. 

"Hmm, I was thinking Grace would like you. My ex fiance. We stayed friends... she supported me a lot. I have this knack of getting kind women to like me." 

"You're a kind person." Eddie said, seriously. "Everything about your personal decisions indicates that. It's not a challenging mystery - hardly a mystery at all, in fact."

"You mean even with this?" Dent indicated the typically covered, scarred sneer. "Even with the - anger," He couldn't quite bring himself to talk about Harv when everything was going so well otherwise.

"I'm not Crane, but I'd guess you only got that way because you didn't want to be the kind of person who felt anger at all." Eddie pointed a fork at Dent, "And you're still a perfectionist." 

"That's true. I can't help myself. That's why I want to leave Gotham, and start over somewhere else, after I clear up Jonathan's case - three strikes, and I'm out of here." Dent earnestly accepted the check, but Eddie put forth a small contribution after a few moments of debate. The comment about leaving Gotham was - hard to answer, and she let it hang again in the air between them. 

They exited into the brisk night air, and with no jury verdict in evidence, both retired to Eddie's place. Dent headed for the pull-out couch, but Eddie cleared her throat quietly and nodded to the bedroom. 

"I know it's not strictly ethical to get emotionally entangled with your client before the case is wrapped up, but ... if I'm convicted-..." 

"You won't be convicted." Dent reassured, but did move across the room, and wrapped an arm around Eddie. She was composed, despite the slip - she very much feared the consequences of the jury's decision, and Dent couldn't blame her. 

Eddie kissed the scarred side of Dent's face, since he was so close, and giving all the right signals. "You can't promise that." 

Dent found his fingers stroking through Eddie's hair, but instead of drawing nearer, he gave the Riddler a few pats and then pulled away. "Believe me; I want it, but we don't need to rush this. You'll be okay." 

The Riddler didn't look crushed, but she did murmur something that almost seemed apologetic, and Dent stood in the living room alone, listening to her moving around in the bedroom. He had to be sure of himself. He had to win cases, it was the best thing about him. 

He went to sleep on the uncomfortable couch bed, and woke the sound of the ringing phone, clawing clumsily at it. "Hello?" 

It was the courthouse. Dent woke Eddie, to inform her that the jury had reached a verdict, and his poker face didn't let anything slip about whether he thought the expedience was good or bad. Eddie spent a few minutes agonizing between pant suit and skirt, and then left with Dent in a taxi to the courthouse. As usual, Eddie embraced the papparazzi with good cheer, but it was obvious to Dent after the last few weeks that she was distracted, only half answering the questions and lapping up the attention. 

Dent guided her inside and waved off the persistent cameras, only to come face to face with Bruce Wayne, pausing in the doorway as Eddie stopped a few feet ahead politely. Her steps echoed in the awkward silence, and Dent waved her to go on ahead.

"Bruce." Harvey didn't know what to say now that he was alone with his old friend. He hadn't expected to see the man again, let alone here and now. He stood, feeling totally naked without his prosthetic, and accepted Bruce's firm handshake wordlessly. 

"I just wanted to say I'm glad to see you trying to get your life back together. I know how hard it must be for you. And I think practicing law again might be good for you. Are you seeing a doctor?"

The sentiment was kindly, but Harv stirred with unease inside Dent. Bruce knew how hard it was? Bruce Wayne? His face looked just fine to Dent. _Not now. Please, not now._ He had never had control, only the illusion. The coin was burning a hole in his pocket. Flip. Flip for what? There was no decision to make here. He couldn't flip to deck his old friend in the face for trying, and failing, to understand him. Nothing could be done. 

"I'm sorry I can't talk right now, Bruce. But it was good to see you." Dent stepped to one side, leaving Bruce staring in concern after him. Inside the courtroom, the gallery was full of people, and one visitor in particular was engaged in low conversation with Eddie, actually patting her on the shoulder. From this distance, Dent could see her body language was receptive; she turned aside after a few more moments to look for her lawyer, and as her companion turned also, Dent recognized him as Lex Luthor. 

Eddie welcomed Dent warmly as he approached, introducing him to Lex, "He's taken an interest in my case. He says he knows a lot about it..." 

"Hmm." Dent offered a handshake, and Lex made direct eye contact with him, not flinching away from his appearance. That was interesting. "You heard about me representing myself?"

"Oh yes. But that was only the precedent case. If it happens _again_ , we can safely say we are into a new era of lawmaking, and understanding the complex corruption behind vigilantism. You stand at the precipice of something meaningful far beyond yourselves, my dear Mx. Dent; you are an early warning system for a future hope, and I very much believe you will succeed." Something about Lex's manner was familiar, like an old friend. 

And something about that phrasing made Eddie abruptly stare at Lex.

"Corruption's not so easy to root out." Dent returned, with the zen indifference of someone who had thoroughly experienced all the tortures of the given evil. 

"When you have enough money, anything is easy." Lex clapped Dent on the back, and the lawyer gave him a look that enforced a sudden, polite step back. "Ahem. Best of luck, Ms. Nygma. I may call upon you again, at some later date." 

Górski called the court to order, instructing the jury to stand, and the foreperson looked up from a sheet of paper. "We find the defendant, Edward Nygma, not guilty, you honor."

The courtroom erupted into noise, and Dent was unsure of anything save the sense of pure elation, conscious after a moment more of Eddie grabbing his arm in delight, and the gavel, and the gradual abatement of noise. 

"The jury is thanked and excused. Court adjourned." Górski nodded to the assembled, and Eddie needed little convincing after an initial _I can leave?_

"We did it." Dent realized proper, after all that time and effort, "We're beating the Bat." 

"I think you're right that we should quit while we're ahead, if you want to leave after Dr. Crane's case is settled." Eddie murmured at his shoulder, "This is a victory. Maybe the only one that matters." Her gloved hand squeezed Dent's. She thought of the batarang she had, with the fingerprint. Thought of tracking him down, exposing him. Devoting even more of her life to trying to get the better of him, and how he'd come to symbolize every unhealthy obsession and fixture she was capable of having. 

"Listen--... Harvey." 

Dent looked over at her, pleased to see how radiant she looked in the sunlight, more than free of Arkham, free of the shadow of the Bat, with the potential of actually getting away from this godforsaken city. "Hmm?" 

She could pass that batarang along to someone else. A certain disgruntled but incredibly honest cop like Bullock. She could be _free,_ truly free. Not just free of the walls of Arkham or the skyline of Gotham. Free of him.

"I hear Central City is nice." 

Dent kissed her, right then and there.


End file.
